Heart Stopper, Breath Taker, Fate Maker
by JacksBoonie
Summary: What if instead of stabbing that Soc, Johnny had gone for help ...
1. Chapter One

AN: Hidee Ho! How goes it, eh? Well, sorta new to The Outsiders fics ... watched the movie and read the book recently, and, Man-Oh-Man, I forgot how good they both are. Shee-oot! Well, hope you enjoy! Adios, Amigos! 

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders. I do not own the characters of The Outsiders. 

_Heart Stopper, Breath Taker, Fate Maker_

Bloody fists pound ruthlessly against the Curtis's front door, the figure on the porch desperately seeking those inside. 

"Darry! Soda!" A gasping, raspy voice shouts, fear and panic dripping from the tone. Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing the two eldest Curtis brothers, both looking oddly drained and worried. 

"Johnny?" Darryl asks, his eyebrows knitting together as he attempts to pull the younger man inside. Johnny resists, backing away and nearly tumbling down the porch stairs. Before either of the men standing in the doorway can react, the sixteen-year-old begins to explain his erratic behavior. 

"Ponyboy," he pants, unsuccessfully trying to catch his breath and stop the wheezing his lungs insist upon. 

Smoking has definitely taken its toll on his body. Sure, the nicotine relieves tension and calms the nerves. Lord knows Johnny's nerves have been on edge as of late. But he is definitely taking a beating, even in his early age. 

"Pony?" Sodapop asks quickly, his eyes glistening at the mention of his younger brother. 

The fight had not been all that bad, in his opinion. Fighting is what they do best, especially when it comes to beating those lousy Soc's faces in . . . then again, this fight had not been with the enemy. This particular scuffle had involved family, the only family that they have left, that they can depend on. 

It had only been a shove, a push across a small distance. Ponyboy had not even really hit anything but the floor, the carpet, no less. But the fact remained that Darry had done something he had never done before. He had hit one of his own family. What's more is that he had hit _Pony_, the youngest and the one that they had been counting on to get as far away from this kind of life as possible. 

Someone like Ponyboy did not come around very often. Smart as a whip, the kid was. His teachers and guidance councilors had even talked to Darry about having him skip another grade or two. Ponyboy was destined for something big, not some small hick town where people were jumped nearly everyday and you had to constantly glance over your shoulder to make sure you weren't one of those unlucky souls. 

"He . . . He's at the park," Johnny replies, already heading down the porch stairs and stepping through the gate, Darry and Soda having to follow him quickly to hear what he is trying to tell them. "Soc's . . . four or five . . . They've got Pony!" 

Johnny's last three words are all that the Curtis brothers need to hear before they start off at a sprint down the street. 

"Johnny," Darryl manages between long strides, "you get the others." 

"But Darry-" 

"Go!" The older man yells at the teen harshly. Johnny runs with them a few more paces before halting abruptly and sprinting off in the opposite direction. 

They run in silence for a few moments, the park in sight just up ahead and a blue car peeling away as they reach the fence and jump over it as if it were a hurdle on a high school track. 

"Jesus," Sodapop hears his older brother swear as they near the small jungle gym, their eyes searching frantically. "God, don't let us be too late. Jesus! Don't let us be too late!" 

Finding nothing at first, Soda manages a question through his labored breaths, "You don't think . . . they'd take him . . . do ya?" 

Darry snakes his fingers through his hair, his breathing not nearly as heavy as his brother's, but his entire body shaking with anxiety. He looks close to tears as his eyes continue to scan the small area. 

"Jesus, I don't know! I don't-" 

Darryl's breath seizes in his throat, his lungs refusing to allow the cool night air passage as he catches a heart-stopping sight on the other side of the park. 

"Shit," he whispers, his legs finally able to move and beginning to pump beneath him at full throttle. Soda follows closely, his adrenaline rushing like he has just run a ten-mile marathon. 

The sight that greets the two as they approach the fountain is that of their brother . . . face down in the pool of dirty, change-filled water. Both grab hold of the youngest Curtis, dragging him from the shallow pool and laying him gently on the cement. 

"He's not breathing," Soda points out shakily as Darry checks for a pulse. 

"Shut up, Soda," Darry breathes quickly, his eyes searching his younger brothers face as a weak beat pulses beneath his fingers. 

"Darry, he's not moving," Soda says hysterically, his fingers snaking through his dark, unkempt hair. "He's not breathing, he's not moving, Darry. Shit, shit, sh-" 

"_SHUT UP_, _SODA_!" The eldest Curtis brother's voice echoes across the park, heard by those running towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, Darry sees Johnny heading the pack, Steve, Dallas, and Two-Bit at his heels. 

"Shee-it," Two-Bit whispers breathlessly as they stop, surrounding the three Curtis brothers. "What the hell happened?" 

"Socs," Soda replies, his form rocking back and forth as tears slide down his cheeks. Darry tilts his youngest brother's head back and blows two quick breaths into Ponyboy's mouth. 

Those CPR classes had seemed so unimportant in junior high, but the eldest of the Curtis brothers silently thanks anyone who dares listen to his prayer that he had paid attention nonetheless. 

"Jesus, Kid," Steve says under his breath, staring at Ponyboy's pale, wet face. 

He knows that there has always been a bad vibe between the two of them, and he knows that he had only ever really tolerated the younger boy because he was Soda's kid brother, but, truthfully, the gang would not be able to get along without him. 

"I swear, Pony," Steve mutters to no one in particular, "I swear to God, make it through this, and I won't never complain again when you want to tag along. Swear to God, please, let him make it through this." 

"Jeez, Dal, jeez," Johnny repeats this over and over to the older boy beside him as tears threaten to swallow his eyes. He rubs at them quickly and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Jeez, Dal, you think ... you think he's ... Jeez, Dal, jeez." 

"Shove it, Johnny," Dally hisses through clenched teeth, taking a long drag on the nearly finished cigarette in his mouth. His jaw tightens as his teeth grind painfully. "Just shut the hell up. He's gonna be fine ... He's gonna be fine." His cold, stony aire does not waver in the least, but his eyes give away his panic-stricken thoughts. 

What does he care? It's just the kid, right? Not like they need him anyway. He's too scrawny, too brainy, and they always seem to have to get his ass out of trouble. What does he care if it's the kid? What does he care? ... 

Suddenly, Ponyboy's body gives a violent lurch, and he begins to sputter harshly, water pouring past his lips and splattering this way and that. An audible breath releases from everyone, a breath they had not been aware they were holding. 

"Jesus, Pony, Jesus," Soda splutters past the tears adorning his face. "God Almighty, we thought we'd lost you." 

"Soda?" Ponyboy coughs, his voice rough and haggard. "Darry? What-" 

"Them Socs sure pulled a number on ya, huh, Pony?" Johnny laughs nervously, trying to release the tension tightening in his chest. 

Ponyboy's eyelids rest at half-mast, his head pounding with every burning breath he draws in, and he winces, letting slip a small groan. 

"Pony ..." Darry starts uncertainly, brushing his younger boy's hair out of his eyes. The youngest of the Curtises looks up at Darry, squinting as his eyesight blurs. 

"D-Darry?" He squeaks, his vocal cords weak from coughing. "God, Darry, I'm so sorry. So sorry ... Shouldn't of left ... Should of stayed ... Sorry, Darry. Don't be mad, please. I'm-" 

"Christ, Pony, don't talk so much," Darry forces a smile as he manages to keep the tears at bay. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Pony. You wouldn't have left if I hadn'ta ... God, Pony, I'm so sorry." 

That can't be right ... Ponyboy must be hearing things. Darry's never sorry for anything ... _Ever_. What's he going on about? 

"God, Pony, when I saw you ... You were just ... You looked ..." Darry cannot seem to find the right words to put into place. His mind is jumbled beyond recognition, and he cannot seem to make a coherent sentence. 

"We ... We thought you were gone for good, Pony," Soda says shakily, laying a hand on his younger brother's forehead and running his fingers gently through the long, thick strands of hair. "You gave a scare, little brother." 

Pony begins to tremble, and he clings to Darry for warmth as his teeth begin to chatter. 

"C-Cold." 

"Let's get him home," the oldest Curtis brother says, slinging one arm underneath Ponyboy's back and the other beneath his knees, hauling him up. "He's wet to the bone." 

Without thinking, Dally shrugs his leather jacket from his shoulders and wraps it around the younger boy, dropping his cigarette and grinding it into the playground soil. 

"Thanks, Dal," Darry nods as he starts as quickly as he can through the park and down the street to the Curtis residence, the gang following quickly. 

By the time Darry reaches the front door, Ponyboy has passed out cold. 

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity? 

Not sure if I'm going to continue with this one ... Don't really have any good ideas ... It was just supposed to be a vignette of some kind ... Any suggestions? 


	2. Chapter Two

AN: Wow! I feel loved! I wasn't going to continue, but thanks to you guys, I think I shall! A big "THANKS BUNCHES" to the following for all the awesome reviews: 

**_Kal's Gal_**, **_Sodaschick_**, **_Sarah126_**, **_Dragonandthewerewolf_**, **_yegbb 10_**, **_FeistyFeist_**, **_NaleyBrucasFan - aka Lizzy_**, **_Kit_**, and **_BSBnACcHiCk_**. 

Thanks, you guys! (And a special thanks to **_yegbb 10_** and **_NaleyBrucasFan - aka Lizzy_** for the great ideas! Gravy knows I needed them! And to **_BSBnACcHiCk_**, my sincerest apologies for taking the Lord's name in vain so many times. I just went through the story and noticed how many it was! Fourteen, I counted. Gravy! I'll definitely keep an eye on my writing. No worries! I hope this offense won't keep you from reading my stories!) 

_Chapter Two_

He shivers. 

_Too Cold_

Pulls the blankets up further so that the fringed edge tickles his neck and the spot beneath his chin. 

_Too Hot_

Pushes them away, kicks them off the bed. 

_Too Cold_

He shivers. 

Sodapop sighs as his brother, once again, moans and calls for the covers. He pushes himself up from the bed, rubbing his eye and glancing at the clock to find it is nearly four in the morning. 

It was only two hours ago that the youngest Curtis brother was returning late from his movie with Johnny and Dally, but it feels _forever _ago. 

Walking to the end of the bed, he leans down and scoops up the thin, battered piece of cloth. Fanning it out, he allows it to float gently over his brother's sleeping form. 

Sodapop finds that the glass on the nightstand is empty, so he weakly grasps it with long, bony fingers, making his way to the kitchen. Passing through the living room, he finds Johnny, Dally, Two-Bit, and Steve sleeping soundly on various furniture and the floor. 

"He doing okay?" 

The voice is deep, soft, but it startles Soda nonetheless, and he jumps, turning in the direction of the kitchen to find his older brother. 

Both chuckle, and a wide grin spreads across Sodapop's face as he says, "Jeez, Darry, you sure gave me a fright. Thought you were the boogie man or somethin'." 

"Nah," Darry smirks, "boogie man knows better than to come 'round here . . . Gettin' some water?" 

Soda glances to the empty glass clutched in his hand. 

"Yup," he nods. "You'd think after almost being drowned, the kid would wanna stay as far away from the stuff as possible, but he's been guzzlin' it like it's Cherry Coke from the gas station." 

"Heard somewhere that it's good to drink a lot when you're sick," Darry says, holding his hands up as if about to catch a pass like he had always done in football. Sodapop tosses the glass across the kitchen, and, even in the dark, Darry manages to grab it before it hits anything. 

He quickly fills it from the faucet and walks across the kitchen to hand it to the other boy. 

"He'll be fine, Darry," Soda assures him with one of his infamous smiles, having seen the worried look on his face. "Don't worry so much. You're likely to get gray hairs before you turn twenty-five." 

Darry can't help but smile. 

"That's the one thing I do best, Little Buddy," he sighs, shaking his head and ruffling the other boy's hair. "Worry 'bout my kid brothers." 

0 o 0 o 0 

"Pony? You awake?" 

The soft, anxious voice is recognizable, even in Ponyboy's dreamy haze. That nervous wreck of a tone can only belong to one person. 

"Johnny?" He is surprised that his voice is so scratchy, so weak, but he continues on anyway. "That you?" 

"Sure is," Johnny smiles, seating himself on Soda's side of the bed. "Darry, Soda, and Steve had to get to work. Your brothers sure wanted to stay, but Two-Bit and I convinced 'em you'd be all right with us and Dally. Darry made us promise to check in on ya from time to time and to make sure you're drinkin' and stuff." 

Ponyboy nods, finding it to be the _biggest_ mistake of his life as his head begins to throb and ache. 

"Hey, Johnny, be a pal and get me an Aspirin, would ya?" He asks softly, holding his head with a wince. 

"Sorry, Pony," Johnny apologizes. "Darry said you already had three this morning."

"I did?" The youngest Curtis brother inquires in confusion. "When?" 

Johnny shrugs. 

"Dunno. But Darry said not to give you anymore until this afternoon. Said you could overdose on the stuff." 

Ponyboy rubs his temples painfully. 

"You sure?" He pleads. "You sure I can't have just one?" 

"Nuh-uh," the older boy shakes his head. "Darry's orders, and I ain't the one hankerin' to deal with the consequences if I don't follow 'em. No offense, Pony, but . . . your brother scares me to death . . . prob'ly more than my _Dad_." 

"Aw, Johnny," the other boy sighs, his eyelids already becoming heavy, "don't say that. Darry's . . . a great guy." 

And with that, Ponyboy falls into another nightmarish sleep; the last thing he remembers is Johnny's cool, clammy hand on his feverish forehead. 

0 o 0 o 0 

Ponyboy awakens slowly to the sound of hushed voices, their harshness, though quiet, making his head pound. 

His chest feels tight as if someone heavy is sitting on him, and he can get no more than small gasps of air into his lungs at a time. 

"Darry?" He calls desperately, trying to move but finding his limbs about as useful as two-ton lead bricks. "Soda?" 

The voices disappear, and he feels the bed sink slightly as someone sits and begins to brush his hair back from his sweaty forehead. 

"Sorry, Kid," a tough tone replies. "Your brothers are still at work. Damn, I wish they were here, though." 

"D-Dally?" Ponyboy manages to squint through red, puffy eyes at the boy above him. 

"His breathin's gettin' funny, Dal," another voice points out nervously, and Ponyboy can just barely make out Johnny's skittish form at the end of the bed. 

"Yea, I know," Dally replies, continuing to brush the kid's hair back like he had seen his brothers do sometimes. 

_'Helps calm him down,' Soda had once explained to his _obvious _disinterest. 'Let's him know there's somebody here."_

He sure is glad he half paid attention to Soda that day. 

"What should we do?" Johnny shifts his weight from one foot to the other, jamming his hands deep into his pockets like he always does when something bothers him. "You think it's something serious?" 

"Gotta be pneumonia," Dally deducts. "His breathin's weird, like he's got water in his lungs or somethin'." 

"Jeez," Johnny winces, staring at his best friend's limp form. "You sure are smart, Dal. I woulda never known it was pneumonia." 

"We gotta get 'im to the hospital," Dally explains, ignoring Johnny's compliment. 

The one secret in Dallas Winston's life, the only thing he has _never _told any of his friends is that his mother died of pneumonia when he was only eight. Perhaps _this_ is the reason he turned to the streets of New York and became what he is today . . . 

. . . Not that he would tell any of the other boys. 

"Hospital?" Two-Bit asks, entering the room. "You sure that's such a good idea, Dally?" 

"You think staying here and finding out if it is or not is such a good idea, _Two-Bit_?" Dally spits back, glaring at the oldest of the Outsider gang. Two-Bit chomps on his gum a moment, staring at Ponyboy in silent contemplation. 

"Nah," he says, finally, "guess not." 

"Then let's get the hell outta here," Dally suggests none too politely. "Pick 'im up and let's get 'im to your car." He motions to Two-Bit, and the other man complies, quickly scooping up Pony's frail form and heading out of the room. 

"Darry . . ." the younger boy whispers, his eyes glazed and his eyelids drooping, "Soda . . . Where's my brothers?" 

"They're comin', Ponyboy, don't you worry none," Two-Bit assures him, throwing Dally a look. 

Dallas immediately beelines to the kitchen and uses the Curtis's phone to call Darry and Sodapop while Two-Bit and Johnny help Ponyboy into the car. 

Again, Pony's world drifts away into shadows and monsters, and he wonders if it truly is only a dream, or if it is his new home . . . 

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity? 

Ooookay, Cats and Kittens . . . Sorry for the delay . . . I'm home this weekend, and so I shall have MUCH time to write and be merry . . . So . . . GOOD DAY TO YOU, SIRS! 


	3. Chapter Three

AN: Wow! Been a while, neh? So sorry, guys (especially FeistyFeist, who has nagged each and every single moment of my dull and uninteresting life . . . so please feel free to blame HER for this update). That is all, My Chick-A-Dees. Good Day to you, Sirs! Enjoy!

Chapter Three

"Steve!" Sodapop bursts into the garage, searching frantically for his friend and finding those familiar, worn sneakers poking out from underneath a jacked car. "Steve!"

Said boy slides out from under the vehicle and stares at the other as if he is a screaming banshee letting loose the hounds of hell.

"What-" Steve barely has time to get a word past his lips before Soda has him hauled to his feet.

"It's Pony," the middle Curtis brother breathes frantically, his eyes wide and frightened. "We need to get to the hospital!"

Without another word, Steve is running from the garage, Soda at his side as the owner of the gas station curses loudly behind them.

"You hoods get your asses back here before I have you fired!"

Neither of the teens stop or even bother to look back.

"Damn," Steve shakes his head with a wince. " And I really liked that job too."

0 o 0 o 0

Darryl Curtis walks briskly down the white, bland corridor of the hospital, the smell of sterility invading his senses and making him want to gag. Nurses rush past him, ignoring his inquiries as to where a "Ponyboy Curtis" is.

Suddenly, he spots Dally, Johnny, and Two-Bit at the end of the hall. The eldest of the three paces back and forth, his expression emitting concern and worry while the other two sit in the waiting chairs, Johnny's knee bouncing anxiously, his hands deep in his pockets and Dally sucking on a cigarette as if his life depends upon it.

"What's goin' on?" Darry asks quickly as he approaches them. Johnny jumps, startled, and stands to his feet.

"Kid's got pneumonia," Dally explains coolly, allowing a stream of smoke to pass his lips before grinding his cigarette into the ground.

"Pneumonia?" A breathless voice asks from behind Darry. They turn to find Steve and Soda, both heaving painfully and attempting to regain their breath.

"They'll only let family see 'im right now," Two-Bit says softly. "He's . . . been yellin' for you two for almost a half hour." He gestures to both the Curtis brothers.

"They won't let us in," Johnny says tightly, his voice laced with tears as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "They wouldn't let us see him . . . Even when he was screaming . . . They just . . . They just . . ."

Darry gently places a hand on Johnny's shoulder and says, "It's all right, buddy. We'll take it from here. Don't worry. You'll get to see him."

After talking with a nurse, Darry and Soda finally enter a small hospital room, the same boring white that they had seen in the corridor painting the walls. The eldest Curtis brother swallows hard as he glances at the tube jutting from Ponyboy's mouth.

"Oh, Pony," Soda whispers, passing Darry quickly and sitting into the chair beside the bed. He carefully grasps his younger brother's limp hand in his own.

"Darry, he's so cold," he says, close to tears. "Is he supposed to be this cold?" Darry walks to the other side of his youngest brother, entwining their fingers.

"He's fine, Soda," he whispers, not quite believing it himself. "He'll be fine."

"His lips are blue," Sodapop continues hysterically. "His hands are so cold. Are they supposed to be that color, Darry? Are they supposed to be so cold and gray?"

"It's all right, Little Buddy," Darryl coaxes, running his fingers through Soda's hair, his eyes never leaving Ponyboy's pale, sweaty face.

The small teen's body trembles despite the several blankets covering his form, and his fingers _do_ feel somewhat cool under his touch.

"He's gonna be just fine."

The words are meant to be soothing, but their assurance is lost on the bland hospital walls.

0 o 0 o 0

Johnny, Two-Bit, Steve, and Dally watch as Darry exits Ponyboy's hospital room, all three standing as he closes the door.

"So . . . What's going on?" Two-Bit asks nervously, bouncing on his feet.

"Doc says that they're giving him antibiotics," Darry replies with an exhausted sigh, attempting to reiterate everything the doctor had told him moments ago. "Those should filter out the infection that's been spreading throughout his chest . . . ever since last night when we found him. They say that if we had brought him in right away, he wouldn't need to stay here, that we could've treated him at home or something . . . but given his severe condition, they want to keep him a few days for observation."

"But he's gonna be all right, isn't he?" Johnny asks anxiously, his hands finding their way into his pockets once again.

Ponyboy has been his best friend since he can remember, ever since they had met at school and he had introduced him to the Curtis family.

Mrs. Curtis had been the best lady in the neighborhood. Most of the gang wondered what kept her in such a wreck of a place when she was ten times as good as any Soc living it up on the other side of town.

And Mr. Curtis, himself, had been born a Greaser, but he probably could have lived anywhere he pleased. He blended into any crowd he came upon, and he was known on both sides of town as the type of guy you'd want to get to know.

Pony often talks about Darry being exactly like his father, how Two-Bit tells him time and time again that the only thing stopping the eldest of the Curtis brothers from being a Soc is the gang.

In retrospect, this is true. But no one ever really takes into account that Ponyboy could be one of those high-class people too. His grades are far beyond average, and when he cleans up, you can almost swear you're looking at a first rate Soc.

"He's going to be fine," Darry cuts into Johnny's thoughts after a rather hesitant pause, forcing a weak grin upon his face. "You all should get back home or something. Soda and I are gonna stay. I don't think they'll let you all spend the night. Visiting hours are almost up, but you've got a bit of time if you want to see him."

Johnny is the first to the door, followed closely by Two-Bit. Dally and Steve stand still for a moment, both staring at Darry blankly.

"Think I'll head off," Dally says, slipping into his leather jacket and tugging at the collar so that it sticks up. "Steve, you need a ride home?"

"Yea, thanks," the auto-mechanic replies gratefully. "We'll see you in the morning, Darry. Tell Soda I said bye . . . and, uh, if Pony wakes up . . ."

"Don't worry about it," Darry nods. "Thanks, both of you, for helping out today. I know it was probably a pain, but Soda and I appreciate it a lot."

"No problem," Dally smirks, starting down the hall with a few words to the nurse at the desk. Steve and Darry smile slightly as she scoffs and turns away from him, a look of disgust on her face as the cocky young teen gives a funny chuckle and motions for Steve to hurry.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Cats and Kittens, my very sincerest apologies to everyone who has been waiting so anxiously :cough Feisty cough Feist cough: Pardon, I have a terrible illness that seems to blame random people . . . :cough Feisty cough Feist cough: . . .

Well, I must be off. I shall try my hardest to get another chapter up soon. You know college, though. Lots of homework, even more studying, no time for play. :Sigh: Laters!


	4. Chapter Four

AN: Okay, Kats and Kittens, this chap is for the one and only _**FeistyFeist **_(because I luv ya and ya make me smile!). Glomps and such to ya, Chick-A-Dee! Thanks for making writing so much fun :)

And to all my other reviewers, I thank you SOOO much! I feel so loved and such when I get a review (even if it's to say that my story sucks, cause it still means you took the time to read it. Yay!).

Well, on with the actual story . . . GOOD DAY TO YOU, SIRS! Enjoy!

Chapter Four

Johnny and Two-Bit both stop short as they enter the small hospital room, staring in horror at the sight that had greeted the eldest Curtis brothers only moments before.

"Jeez, Pony," Johnny manages through a shuddering breath. "Jeez, how did it get this bad?"

"What does he need that damn tube for?" Two-Bit asks defensively, trying to keep his composure and failing miserably.

"Can't breathe right, I guess," Soda replies softly from beside the hospital bed, where Ponyboy's thin frame lies, shrouded by thin, white sheets.

The room reeks of antiseptic and an odd metallic smell that emanates from the various machinery scattered about. The white walls, though brightening the room, only make the mood more somber, causing a feeling of discontent.

This seems more a place where people come to die, not get better.

"The doctor said he'll probably need the tube until he wakes up," Darry explains as he enters the room and shuts the door quietly. "But they don't know when that'll be . . . or _if_ he will."

"He's gonna wake up," Soda replies quickly, his tone dangerous, one that the others have never heard before. He glares at the hand he clutches in his own as if it is the source of all their trouble. "He's gonna wake up, and he's gonna be fine. He just needs to rest, is all. He just needs some sleep."

"Yea," the oldest Curtis brother nods, though disbelief coats his face. "Soon as he wakes up, we'll get him home, and he'll be just fine . . . just fine." His voice trails off as he stares at the ground, wringing his fingers anxiously.

Johnny slowly steps up to the bed, Two-Bit at his shoulder as they both look down at their pale, sleeping friend.

"Y-You hang in there, Pony," the younger boy says nervously, his hands finding his pockets. "You're gonna be just fine. You just gotta . . . hang in there."

"Yea, Kid," Two-Bit encourages the unconscious figure weakly. "There's no way we're gonna get along without chya, so you better get well soon, else I'll have to eat your share of chocolate cake at breakfast."

Two-Bit's attempt at lighting the mood falls on deaf ears as his voice fails him entirely. Never before has he had to watch one of his friends in such a situation. Not even when Darry had to get his tonsils out or when Steve had appendicitis and had to go in for surgery.

None of the gang had ever been this bad before, and it's scaring the shit out of each and every one of them.

A knock on the door breaks their thoughts, and they all turn as a nurse enters.

"I'm sorry," she says politely, "but visiting hours are over. Only family is allowed right now."

"Thanks," Darry nods to her solemnly, and she leaves, glancing once more to the figure lying motionless in the hospital bed.

"Guess we'd better go, then," Johnny says reluctantly.

"You'll call if he wakes up, right?" Two-Bit inquires hopefully, looking to Darry, who affirms his question with a single nod of his head.

"Yea, we'll be sure to call."

"Hey, Johnnycakes, you wanna stay at my place tonight?" The eldest member of the gang places a hand on Johnny's shoulder, squeezing it softly.

"Sure," the sixteen-year-old shrugs. And with that, the two leave the three Curtis brothers to themselves, knowing it will most likely be a very long night.

0 o 0 o 0

The sensation in his throat upon waking stirs panic in the pit of his stomach as the urge to gag grows stronger. He attempts to cough, but what comes out is more of a liquid-like choke, sending shock waves of stinging pain through his chest.

Tears spring to his eyes as he lifts his heavy lids and squints into brightness. Voices echo from the left and right, too hazy to recognize in his dull, sleepy state. Fingers brush his hair back, and he revels in the touch, knowing immediately that it is Soda's.

His mouth opens, but his tongue, thick and gluey, will not cooperate, and he his forced to swallow as best he can around the tube running down his throat.

Suddenly, Soda's hand is gone, causing his stomach to twist nauseatingly. A new figure takes his place, a blurry, white person with a bright light and a deep voice. What is he saying?

Finally, words break through the fog, an unrecognizable voice blaring a single question over and over again.

"Ponyboy, can you hear me?"

The young man nods his head, finding it to be a great mistake as his head aches from the gesture.

"Ponyboy, my name is Doctor Chesik. You're at the hospital. Your friends brought you here after they discovered you have pneumonia. Do you remember?" The deep voice continues slowly, making sure that Ponyboy gets every word.

The youngest Curtis brother's eyebrows furrow as he shakes his head slightly, careful not to aggravate it again. Truthfully, he barely remembers anything that happened after the Socs and the fountain. Everything seems to blur together, no specific event taking form in his mind.

"That's all right," the doctor says, patting his arm. "Now, I need you to listen very carefully, Ponyboy. There is a tube running down your throat connected to a machine that is helping you breathe. I need you to tell me if you want the tube out or not, okay?"

Pony nods, wondering if this man has to talk to everyone like they're a three-year-old or if it is just him . . .

"Good," the doctor's face slowly comes into focus, revealing a large smile playing across a rough, exhausted-looking face. "Would you like me to take the tube out?"

Again, the younger man nods, this time a little more enthusiastically than before, causing this 'Doctor Chesik' to chuckle slightly.

"Well, we'll take that as a solid 'yes,' shall we?" He turns to Soda and Darry, both of whom nod in agreement and look to Ponyboy encouragingly. "Now, on the count of three, I'm going to have you breath out as hard as you can, all right? I'm going to give the tube a good tug, so it may scratch your throat a bit, but it should slide right out nice and smooth."

Turning, the doctor shuts off the machine beside the bed and disconects it from the tube in Ponyboy's mouth.

"If I could ask for your assisstance," he asks Darry, "I just need you to help sit him up as soon as the tube is out. Are you ready, Son?"

The youngest Curtis nods, his own breathing attempts finally able to take over.

"One ... Two ... Three," Doctor Chisek counts slowly before pulling on the tube as Ponyboy breathes out with as much strength as he can gather.

As the man had said, the tube scratches at the inside of his throat, causing a harsh bout of coughing as soon as it slips past his lips. Darry quickly and carefully grips his younger brother's right bicep and waist, pushing him into a sitting postition as Pony doubles over in a fit.

"Doc, is he supposed to be coughin' that hard?" Soda questions with concern.

"It's normal," the doctor explains. "Don't worry. It's not a pleasant experience, but he'll be just fine once it's out of his system."

No sooner do the words leave his mouth than Ponyboy's coughing slowly begins to cease until, finally, he lays shivering and wheezing in his eldest brother's arms, clinging with what little grip he has to Darry's dirty work shirt.

"D-D'rry," he gasps in a shuddering breath, burying his face into the crook of the man's neck. "S'd . . . S'da . . ." Tears begin to stream down his face as Sodapop rubs soothing circles on his back and snakes his fingers through the long brown strands of hair.

"It's all right, Pony," Soda whispers as Darry leans the youngest Curtis brother back onto the bed, his eyelids already beginning to slide shut from exhaustion. "We'll be here when you wake up. You sleep now, okay? Don't worry none."

Soda's soft words slowly lull Ponyboy into a light doze, and, soon, a deep, dreamless sleep.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Okay, Kats and Kittens. That's all for now . . . I hope I'll be able to update soon. I've got finals coming up, unfortunately, but then comes the sweet satisfaction known as Winter Break, which I will spend WORKING at the evilness known as the "Bakery" with "Hot Bread Bill" . . . Don't ask . . . _Please_ . . .

Laters! Luv much and such to all! ('Specially FeistyFeist . . . Booyah!)


	5. Chapter Five

AN: Well, now, Kats and Kittens. I can't believe I've been slacking off on this story. Dang, I need to get my head outta my studies and start letting the writings of my brain ooze out through my ears . . . or . . . not . . . /cricket chirp/ . . . Hello?

Anywho, I hope you haven't given up on me yet. I'm trying my best to keep up with my updates, but school work is really dragging me down. Hopefully, I'll catch a break soon.

Well, enough stalling. On with the story. Dedicated, as ever, to my favoritest of faves, FeistyFeist. Thanks, Dah-ling! You keep this story going!

Chapter Five

Ponyboy awakens to the sound of loud voices and the scuffling of shoes against tile.

"We just came by to check up on the kid!" Someone shouts angrily.

"You mean make sure you don't get in trouble!" Two-Bit's tone is harsh and furious, not at all like his normally humorous, laid-back self at all. "That's all you're after. Make sure you didn't kill 'im so you don't go to jail."

"That isn't it at all!" Another voice protests, this one a little more calm than the other. "We made a mistake, alright? We're sorry! We just want to know if he's going to be okay."

The throbbing in Ponyboy's head is too much for him handle, and he wishes that the quarrel would cease so that he could go back to sleep. His attempts at calling out are met by a searing pain in his throat.

Shaking, he swings one leg over the side of the bed and then the other. His feet hang merely inches from the smooth white floor, and as he lowers himself down, he shivers. His knees wobble, but after a moment of steadying himself, he is able to stand on his own.

Slowly, he places one foot after the other, making his way to the door. Just before his fingers can graze the knob, it twists with an overly exerted force and the door is swung open as someone shouts, "Just let us see him for _one_-"

Ponyboy gasps as he loses his balance, his arms flailing as he attempts to find his center and fails. Before he can collapse to the ground, however, a strong, warm pair of arms wraps around his middle, holding fast.

Pony looks up, expecting to see Darry, Soda, or at least one of the boys that seem so much like family to him and his brothers. Unfortunately, he finds, to his dismay, the face above him familiar but most certainly unwelcome.

". . . Hey, Kid . . ." Bob's voice is surprisingly soft, but this does not ease Ponyboy's apprehension. He swallows as best he can as his eyes widen and more shouting persists from outside the room.

Suddenly, he is ripped from the Soc's arms, finding himself firmly planted in Soda's grasp. Both Darry and Soda's eyes are alight with fire, directed towards the two unwanted guests in their youngest brother's hospital room.

"Listen, we aren't here to-" the other Soc starts.

"I don't really care what you're here for," Darry seethes, his voice near a deadly whisper. "I want you out, or I'm callin' the cops."

Ponyboy turns from his brothers' infuriated gazes to find that Bob and his friend look absolutely . . . _sullen_. Is that even possible? These are _Socs_. The day they ever feel sorry for a Greaser is the day that hell freezes over. How could they possibly feel any sense of regret for someone like him?

"Listen, Kid," Bob tries to reason with the youngest of the Curtis brothers. "We just need to talk to you for a minute. Please, we-"

"Get out," Soda demands, pushing Ponyboy behind him. "He doesn't want to see you, so just get the hell out."

"Soda," Ponyboy's voice is weak, soft, barely audible over the arguement happening in the small hospital room, but silence ensues almost immediately. "L- . . . Lemme talk to 'em."

"Ponyboy, you shouldn't even be outta bed," Darry says, rubbing a hand up and down his younger brother's back. "You need to be resting. You don't need to talk to them."

"Yes," Pony nods, determined to get his way, "I do. Just . . . for a minute . . . Lemme talk to 'em." Soda and Darry look at their youngest brother skeptically.

Darry turns sharply to the Socs and says, "You've got one minute."

Bob and his friend are silent, staring at the eldest Curtis brothers apprehensively before looking to Ponyboy for help.

"Alone," Ponyboy says, seeing their plight. He doesn't want to be left alone with these creeps anymore than Darry and Soda want him to, but he knows that if he has any chance of learning what they have to say to him, they have to be out of earshot of his _exceedingly _protective older brothers.

"Pony-" Soda starts to shake his head, but Ponyboy places a hand on his shoulder.

"Just give us a minute," he says quietly, adding a weak smile to seal the deal. He knows that neither of his brothers can resist his smile.

Two-Bit has always claimed that Ponyboy's smile is a "get out of jail free" card. Anyone who looks at it can't help but give in to anything he wants.

Darry sighs, looking the Socs up and down once more before nodding his agreement and hesitantly heading towards the door with Sodapop trailing unhappily. As the door closes, and audible release of breath comes from the two older boys.

"Thanks, Kid," Bob's friend says gratefully.

"My name's not 'Kid'," Ponyboy counters, his teeth grinding as he struggles to stand and keep his balance at the same time. "It's Ponyboy."

"Sorry," the friend clears his throat uncomfortably. "I'm Randy . . . I was, uh, there the other night when . . . you know."

"No," Pony shakes his head, lowering his gaze to the ground somewhat. "I don't . . . really remember much about that night . . . and, truthfully, I'd rather not have to."

"Yea, sure," Bob replies with a quick nod of his head, wiping his sweating palms on his startched khakis. "Uh, how've you been doing?"

"Lousy, actually," the youngest Curtis accuses hotly, taking some pride in the fact that his words cause both teens to wince. "But other than that . . . I suppose I'm feelin' better."

"Good," Bob breathes with another quick nod, his hands delving deeply into his pockets, reminding Ponyboy of Johnny. "That's good."

An awkward silence coats the room before Pony speaks again.

"Listen, if you guys are worried about some kind of law suit, I wouldn't bother," he explains quietly. "My brothers don't have the money for a lawyer, and you'd probably just get off anyway. It'd be a big waste of time for all of us, so . . . just forget about it."

"Hey, Kid-" Randy stops himself short. "I mean, Ponyboy, listen, we didn't come down here to talk about some lawsuit. We don't care if you press charges or not . . . We just wanted to apologize."

"What we did was stupid," Bob agrees. "We were drunk, and after seeing you with our girls, we just got it in our heads that we should do something about it."

"We were just talkin', was all," the younger man argues defensively.

"Yea, we know," Randy nods sheepishly. "We heard the girls talking about it this morning at school. They said you hadn't been to classes these past couple of days . . . that you were in the hospital."

"We're sorry, Ponyboy," Bob adds, his stance antsy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again. "Anyway, that's what we wanted to come by for. Sorry we stirred things up with your brothers."

"Don't worry about them," Pony attempts a smile.

Bob and Randy head towards the door of the hospital room, finding that as they reach it, the knob twists abruptly. Darry and Soda stand just outside it, both scowling at the two as they exit.

"Hey," Ponyboy calls, causing both Socs to turn. "Thanks for stoppin' by."

"No problem," Bob returns with a weak smile, staring wariliy at the two eldest Curtis brothers looming over them. "Catch you later." With that, both head off down the hallway and out of sight.

0 o 0 o 0

"And that's all they said?" Darry asks suspiciously.

"Yea," Ponyboy shrugs from his position on the bed. "Dar, they didn't do anything. We just talked, I swear."

"Why does that make me think that something happened?" Soda asks, his knuckles cracking all at once as he clenches his fists. "Ponyboy, why would they come around here after . . . after that night?"

"They wanted to apologize," the youngest Curtis brother sighs, having to repeat himself for probably the fifth time. "Listen, I know it sounds strange, but they seemed sincere enough. They meant it."

"Pony, they're Socs," Darry points out.

"Socs that tried to drown you not two days ago," Sodapop reminds him.

"I know," Pony nods slowly, looking to his twiddling fingers. "But . . . I believe them. Soda, Darry, if you could just see them around school . . . Bob and his friend don't normally pick on us . . . It's the other ones . . ."

"Even so, Pony," the eldest Curtis shakes his head with worry, "I don't want you gettin' hurt. The doctor said you'd be all right to go back to school next week as long as we kept you on your medicine, but that's the one place we can't be with you when they're around."

"I'll have Two-Bit," Ponyboy argues. "He's in nearly all my classes anyway. I'll be fine, Darry. You don't have to worry so much."

"That's all I have left, Kiddo," Darry gently ruffles his youngest brother's messy hair. "Worryin's what I do best when it comes to you two."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Damn . . . Is it just me, or was there some _major_ unintended slashiness between Bob and Ponyboy there for a second? Holy crap! Please tell me, because if there was, I have a few good ideas . . . If not . . . well, your opinion is always valued.

HEY! WHO ELSE IS GOING TO THE COLDPLAY CONCERT IN FEBRUARY?

. . . Just thought I'd ask . . .


	6. Chapter Six

AN: Spring Break! Spring Break! Spriiiiiiiiiing Breeeeeeak! Yay for those weeks of nothingness. Haza and so forth.

Anywho, how goes it, Kats and Kittens? I must apologize for the laziness of the updating and such. I haven't had my laptop for sometime, now, and I have missed it so.

Well, I figured since it's almost one in the morning, now would be a good time to set my insomniac skills to work. W00t:) . . . Later, Kids. Enjoy!

Chapter Six:

"Our work numbers are on the fridge and Dally's is by the phone," Darry states absently for possibly the third time as he glances over the living room, adjusting blankets and pillows.

"Yea, Dar, I know," Ponyboy sighs from his position on the couch, "I've had those numbers memorized for more than a year."

"There's Coke and water in the fridge," the eldest Curtis brother continues, ignoring him. "No beer, no cigarettes, no going outside, no cooking-"

"No this, no that, no _fun_," Ponyboy rolls his eyes, slumping back. "I _know_, Darry."

"Two-Bit will be here around noon. He's skipping out on his lunch period to come and make you something to eat," Darry explains, still unable to look the younger man in the eye. "Soda's workin' til about five, and I can't get off work til six thirty, so Two-Bit'll stop by again after school with Steve to check on ya."

The youngest Curtis remains quiet. He and Steve have never really gotten along, not since he and Soda had started working together at the gas station. Sure, he's been nice lately, but that is most likely only because Pony had been in the hospital and because Soda had been stressed about it.

"He knows, Darry. Give the kid a break," Soda chuckles, coming out of the bathroom with wet hair and an unbuttoned DX shirt. He plops down beside his younger brother and ruffles the brown locks, kissing the top of his head.

"Alright, fine," Darry sighs, skeptically giving the room a once over before turning to Soda. "Let's get a move on. You'll be late for work, which you're lucky to still have, Little Buddy. It's a good thing your boss gave you a break for runnin' off like that."

"Yea, yea. I know. See you later, Pony," Soda smiles, giving the younger man's shoulder a soft squeeze before grabbing his shoes and trailing after Darry out of the house.

Ponyboy breathes a shuddering sigh of relief, laying down and slinging an arm over his eyes. He shivers and pulls down the blanket slung over the back of the couch, tucking it underneath his chin and closing his eyes in an attempt at sleep.

0 o 0 o 0

"Kid? Hey, Pony! Wake up!"

Ponyboy reluctantly opens his eyes to find Two-Bit's grinning face staring straight down at him.

"What?" He grumbles, pulling the blanket over his face and turning onto his other side to face the back of the couch.

"Nup, Kiddo, gotta git up," the older man says regrettably. "Darry left strict orders. You're s'posed to eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Pony protests, gripping the blanket even tighter.

"Come on, Pony," Two-Bit whines. "Darry's gonna kill me if you don't eat. Please? Just a little somethin'. I won't tell if you don't eat all of it."

"Your cooking sucks somethin' awful, Two-Bit," the young man counters. "I don't wanna eat, and you can't make me."

Two-Bit bites his lip nervously. Obviously, he cannot force him to eat, but if he doesn't, the who knows what Darry will do to him.

"Okay," the older one says, pacing the small room. "I'm gonna cook ya somethin', and as long as it's gone by the time Steve and I get back here, you don't have to eat now . . . But at least promise me you'll-"

"I promise," Ponyboy cuts him off, a headache beginning to brew in the back of his skull. "Just shut up." With that, Two-Bit makes his way into the kitchen, and Pony slowly drifts back into a dreamless sleep.

0 o 0 o 0

"Aw, shit."

Pony is, once again, awakened by Two-Bit, this time not so gently.

"Pony, you little liar. You said you were gonna eat somethin'."

Two-Bit whips the blankets from the young boy's thin frame and roughly grasps his shoulder, intending to shake him but stops as he takes in his appearance.

"Jesus," Steve mutters under his breath as the older man leans down and places the back of his hand on the younger's forehead.

"Pony?" He asks softly. "Hey, come on, Kid."

Ponyboy's erratic breathing and sweaty, pale face cause the young men to exchange nervous looks.

"I think we should call Soda or Darry," Steve suggests, heading towards the phone.

"No," Two-Bit protests quickly, causing the other to look at him incredulously. "I . . . I only mean that they both gotta work, you know? Them hospital bills aren't going to pay for themselves."

Steve sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets and kicking the door frame of the kitchen.

"So, what do ya want to do, then? Wait til his brothers get home so they can whoop us a good one?"

Two-Bit thinks for a moment, biting his thumbnail as he brushes back Ponyboy's wet, sticky bangs from his burning forehead.

"Dally," he says finally, standing and heading into the kitchen. "We need Dally."

"_Dally_?" Steve nearly laughs at the thought. "How the hell is calling Dally gonna help?"

"He knew what to do last time, okay?" The older man snaps, picking up the receiver and roughly punching in the numbers. The other line rings a few times before a gruff voice answers.

"_Yea_?"

"Dally," Two-Bit nearly yells into the phone. "Somethin' . . . Somethin's wrong with Ponyboy. You gotta get over here quick. He's burnin' up real fast."

"_Okay, okay_," Dallas replies calmly. "_I'll be there in a minute. Just go get a cool cloth and put it on his forehead til I get there, alright_?"

"Yea, got it," Two-Bit nods anxiously. "Thanks, Dal."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Kats and Kittens, hope this doesn't leave you too disappointed. I know it's a little short, but I've got lots more to write, so don't worry. :)

Anywho, I'll try and update as much as possible during break. Grr. Breaks are never long enough, are they? Oh well. Later, Kats and Kittens! Luv much to all. Nighty!


	7. Chapter Seven

AN: How goes it, Kats and Kittens? Not much happening around here. So sorry about the delay. I've been swamped with school work. A thing or two before we get started. I realize I made a booboo and didn't quite tie some things up in the last chapter, so I changed it a bit. And to save you from going back and having to read it all again, I'll just tell you what I changed:

So, Soda and Steve sort of ran off when they heard word that Pony was in the hospital, yea? And their boss sort of threatened to fire them, but in the last chapter, I have Soda going off to his job again, so I just added a line or two with Soda saying he'll be late for work and Darry saying he's lucky to have a job at all considering his boss was soft on them on account of Ponyboy being sick and all and blah, blah, blah. You get the picture, yea?  
Well, enough of that, neh? Enjoy!

Chapter Seven:

Dallas Winston spots the Curtis house a block before he reaches it, the house that many a night and day he has found a safe haven in. As he approaches the small home, he can only hope that the youngest of the Curtis brothers has not worsened in the last ten minutes it has taken him to run from his father's apartment in town, and he curses his car, the infernal machine that had broken down only the other day.

Steve stands from the porch and yells inside, "Hey, Two-Bit, he's here!"

Two-Bit breathes a long sigh of relief as Dally hurries past Steve and rushes into the living room.

"How's the kid?" He pants breathlessly, leaning down and removing the already warm cloth to check the boy's fever.

"Not good, Dal," Two-Bit replies anxiously, standing and stepping back next to Steve to allow him some room. "His fever's shot up a bit, and he just keeps shakin' and mumblin' that he's cold . . . He wants Soda and Darry."

"So why didn't you call them?" Dally shoots, taking the cloth and walking into the kitchen. He searches until he finds a small bowl, filling it with ice from the freezer and water from the faucet.

Walking back into the living room, he barely acknowledges the other two as he wets the cloth and wrings it out.

"Pony? Can you hear me?" Dally asks softly, dabbing the cool cloth along the young boy's face and neck. "Come on, Kid." Slowly, Ponyboy opens his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat and coming in wispy gasps.

"Dally?" He whispers, unable to emit anything more.

"Yea, Kid. How ya feelin'?" Dallas allows a small smirk to play at his lips as he wets the cloth again and continues to wipe the young Curtis's sweaty, pale skin.

"Not so good." Pony shivers against the cold, whimpering as he tightens his grip on the blanket covering him.

"I expect not," the older boy attempts to lighten the mood with a slight chuckle. "Don't worry, Ponyboy. You'll be fine. Soon as we get your temperature down, you'll be right as rain."

"Rain ain't always right," Ponyboy points out, a smile breaking out on his face.

"Too true," Dally returns dazedly, brushing the younger boy's hair out of his face as he slowly slips into a light doze.

"Is he gonna be okay, Dal?" Two-Bit's soft voice breaks Dally's thoughts, and he turns to look at the two forgotten young men standing anxiously behind him.

"I dunno," he sighs, looking the pale, shivering figure up and down skeptically.

"He don't need a hospital or nothin', does he?" Steve questions, attempting to seem uninterested but failing miserably.

"Not yet," Dally swipes a hand over his face, sighing into his palm before standing and running his fingers through his hair and linking them at the nape of his neck. "If he keeps on like this, though, he might."

"How you know so much about this stuff?" Two-Bit asks curiously.

For a moment, Dallas's eyes glaze over with a distant thought, his teeth grinding almost painfully.

Turning to the two, he smirks, saying, "None of your business. Now the two of you get in there and start makin' dinner or somethin'. Make yourselves useful."

0 o One Week Later o 0

"C'mon, Darry, I'm fine. I wanna go back to school."

Ponyboy has never in his life thought that these words would come from his mouth, but after two weeks of being pent up in a hospital and at home, he is ready to get away from it all and stretch his brain.

"I just don't know if you're ready, Pony. After last week . . . Dally said you were pretty bad off with that fever and all," Darry sighs, looking his younger brother up and down with disapproval. His clothes do nothing to mask the wiry frame beneath, a result of eating very little since his return home, and the soft purple color beneath his eyes caused by sleep deprivation only intensifies the garishly sunk-in look of his facial features.

"You don't look so well, Pon," Soda agrees with Darry, coming up behind Ponyboy and placing a firm hand on his shoulder in support. "Maybe a day or two more would do you good. They'll understand."

"I don't want to be stuck around here for another minute," Pony argues angrily, shrugging Sodapop's hand off. "I want to go to school, Dar. I've already missed loads of school work, and I probably won't be able to run track the rest of the semester. I . . . I just don't want to sit around anymore. I gotta get out of here." Ponyboy's eyes plead with Darry silently as the eldest Curtis struggles between allowing his brother's wants or needs to come first.

"Alright," he finally gives in with a great heave of his chest, "but Two-Bit stays with you at all times. I mean it. I don't want you out of his sight for a minute, and if you start to feel funny, you get straight to the nurse. Hear me, Pony?"

Ponyboy cringes at Darry's terms, but nods all the same.

0 o 0 o 0

"Hey, Grease."

Ponyboy hesitates for but a moment as he places his English book inside his locker, but a moment is all the grating voice needs to see that he is vulnerable and still on edge.

"Heard you got a nice little bath a couple weeks ago."

Immediately, a Soc appears to his left, leaning on the lockers beside his. Pony recognizes him as a boy from his geometry class, a jock from the football team, one of those "letter-jackets," as they're called. A big, stupid grin graces his squarish head, his hands shoved firmly into his jacket pockets until one comes out and ruffles Ponyboy's hair.

"Looks like they didn't leave you in long enough to wash out all that grease, huh?"

Pony swats his hand away, grabbing his history book and roughly shoving it into his backpack. He slams his locker shut, producing a loud bang, and discretely searches for Two-Bit, who seems to be nowhere in sight. His stomach drops as he remembers that it is Tuesday, the one day that their lunch schedules are different, so there will be no hope of rescue from the eldest group member.

"Hey, where you goin', Grease?" The jock follows him down the hall as he starts for his next class, stepping on the back of his shoes and shoving his shoulder. Ponyboy does nothing, hoping that if he ignores the other boy, he will eventually grow tired of torturing him, but, slowly, more and more students are gaining interest in the banter, giving the Soc the attention that he wants.

Suddenly, the notebook that Pony clutches closely to his side, is ripped from his grasp from behind and thrown to the ground, causing him to wheel around on the perpetrator.

"Oops," the jock grins widely. "Looks like you dropped something, Grease."

Ponyboy doesn't move, warily staring at the notebook on the ground and glancing back up at the group of onlookers that has gathered around the troublemaker. He can see the glint in the Soc's eyes, the need for making his day a complete and utter living hell. So, slowly, returning his gaze to his notebook, he leans down and reaches for it. As he expected, there is a rough pressure near his shoulder as the larger boy places his expensive sneaker on his collarbone and shoves him backwards harshly.

Ponyboy falls back onto the hallway tiles with a small grunt, staying still for a moment before attempting to stand back up. Before he can manage to sit up off of his elbows, however, the jock's foot is back, this time resting on his chest and pinning him to the floor. The weight pressing against his ribcage is almost unbearable, and he struggles to release the pressure as he grabs the other boy's ankle.

"S-Stop," he wheezes weakly as he glances around desperately for anyone who can help, cursing the school for strategically placing his locker in the Soc-occupied part of the school.

"Hey!" A voice says, suddenly, cutting through the laughter and chatter of the preppy group surrounding them. Ponyboy prays for Two-Bit, a teacher, another greaser for Christ's sake. Anything that will get him up off of the floor and as far away from this jerk as possible. The person that breaks through the crowd, however, is not what he expected, and, in fact, makes his hopes sink.

"Bob," the jock pressing him against the floor smiles in greeting. "Just in time. What d'ya think we should do to finish him off, huh? The dumpster? Maybe he could go for another dunk."

At this, Ponyboy's eyes widen and his heart races with fear.

"Layoff."

Bob's words surprise both boys.

"What?" The jock asks in confusion. "What d'ya mean 'layoff'?"

"I mean what I mean," Bob replies unemotionally, staring coldly at the other Soc. "Now get your foot off of him and let him up." The jock doesn't move for a long moment, but, soon, realizes that the other boy is not playing around and releases Ponyboy. Bob reaches down, taking hold of Pony's arm and helping him to his feet.

"You okay, Ponyboy?"

The question confuses the youngest Curtis boy for two reasons: The first being the question as to why a Soc should care about the well-being of such a lowly greaser, especially one he had attempted to drown not two weeks before, and the second being that Bob called him by his name. Usually, it's "Grease" or "Kid" or, on most occasions, "Hey, you!"

"Fine," Ponyboy pushes past his lips before quickly bending down to snatch his notebook and start off down the hall once more. The stunned group, thankfully, stays put and merely stares after him, but Bob follows him, matching his stride.

"Are you sure?" He asks in what sounds like genuine concern, but Ponyboy knows better. "It looked like it hurt."

"It did. Thanks," the younger boy forces gruffly, walking past the classroom he is supposed to be entering and heading straight for the front doors.

"Where are you going?" Bob demands as they make their way down the entrance steps and into the sunlight.

Ponyboy stops, suddenly, wheeling around with an angry look upon his face as he stares the Soc down.

"What's it to you?" He spits malevolently, causing a few students sitting with their backs to the brick building to turn their attention on the two. "Why are you following me?"

"Pony?"

The youngest Curtis looks towards the school to find that one of the figures sitting against it is Two-Bit, who starts towards them with a wary look upon his face.

"What's goin' on, Kid? This guy botherin' you?" The older greaser looks Bob up and down, stepping between him and the other boy. "Thought we told you at the hospital to stay the hell-"

"Two-Bit," Ponyboy interrupts quietly, "I wanna go home."

"School ain't gonna be over for another three hours," he says, glancing at the tower above the school, on which a clock displays the current time.

"I don't care," Pony argues, his fingertips rubbing his temple. "I wanna go home. I don't feel too good."

Without another word, Two-Bit turns and slings an arm around the younger's shoulders, starting towards his car. Bob watches as the two disappear behind the other vehicles in the lot, sighing as he turns and heads back into the school. As he enters, however, he hears the same grating voice that had taunted Ponyboy only moments before.

"Hey, Bob. Didn't know you were gettin' so soft on these greasers."

"Shut up, Harry," the other Soc grumbles, pushing past the jock roughly.

"You aren't turnin' on us, are you, greaser lover?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Bob spins on his heels and lands a right hook on Harry's jaw, sending the jock to the floor with a bloody lip and a grunt of pain. Bob turns again, ignoring the stares of awe and astonishment as if nothing had just happened. With no teacher's witness and no student brave enough to confess the violation, it may as well not have.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Again, Kats and Kittens, my extreme apologies for not updating this story as much as I'd like to. School can be hell . . . Anywho, I'll see what I can do about the next chapter, but I'm running out of places I can go with this . . . Any suggestions? They're more than welcome. Thanks!  
Lots of Love. ;)


	8. Chapter Eight

AN: Good grief! How long has it been since I last updated? Almost a /year/? Sheesh, I need to stop having a life and concentrate on my stories. So so sorry about the delay, you guys. It's been a rough year. School just isn't as easy as I thought it was, and I've had so many stories on hold that I don't know where to start. So I'll just get on with it and stop boring you guys with more stalling.

Chapter Eight:

Bob wipes his sweaty palms on his kahkis nervously, shifting the books in his hold from his right arm to his left. He has never before felt so vulnerable, so out of place, and finding himself standing on the Curtis' front porch, he has that distinct feeling that he is being watched. He raises a fist to knock on the screen door, but before he can do so, a figure appears on the other side. There is an awkward silence before Bob has the courage to clear his throat and open his mouth, but the other beats him to the punch.

"What do you want?" The eldest of the Curtis brothers asks stiffly. "If you're here to see him, you're out of luck. He's too sick for visitors."

"Oh," the Soc replies quietly, his gaze directed towards his feet. He feels strange wearing such expensive clothing in such a low-class part of town, but he is sure that he'd insult them if he attempted to dress down. Either way, he knows he isn't welcome here. "I, uh, just brought some things he might need . . . School work."

"Two-Bit already brought all his homework," Darry counters, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.

"It's not homework," Bob says with a slight shake of his head. "At least, not really. It's from that club he's in . . . That writers thing he does after school sometimes. The president saw me with him earlier and gave me a few things to give to him."

"And what, exactly, were you doing with my brother?" The older man demands, stepping foward and opening the screen to better glare at the Soc.

"I was-"

"Lay off, Darry," a voice says from inside the house, Two-Bit appearing behind the man. "This is the guy the kids at school were talking about. The one that stopped that Soc from beating his face in."

"Bob," the Soc says quickly, introducing himself. "Listen, you wouldn't mind if . . . if I came in and saw him for a second, would you? I mean, if he's feeling all right, that is." His words sound breathless, and his chest is tight. Why should he care so much about one kid greaser? It was one drunken night, and he just happened to be unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. So what?

Darry eyes him suspiciously, looking him up and down before sighing and nodding. "Yea, all right. You can see him for a minute or two. But don't get him riled up, or I swear, I'll-"

"I won't," Bob shakes his head quickly, swallowing hard as the other man stands aside to allow him entrance.

"He's back in his room," Two-Bit says with a meek grin, cocking his head towards a hallway on the other side of the living room. Soda and Steve stop their card game at the kitchen table to turn and gawk at him while Johnny and Dally stand from the sofa, the older making to go at him.

"Back off, fellas. He's here to check on the kid," Two-Bit stands in front of Bob, shielding him from the glares and readied fists.

"What the hell's he doing here?" Sodapop demands angrily, standing so fast that his chair flies backward. Steve follows suit.

"Calm down, little brother," Darry warns. "He's done Pony a favor, and-"

"Done him a 'favor'?!" The middle Curtis boy yells indignantly, staring at the other man as if he's lost his mind. "You call nearly drowning him a _favor_?"

"But we didn't mean to," Bob speaks up defensively, shrinking back as several pairs of eyes pin him with a loathing gaze. "W-We were drunk. We weren't thinking. Honest . . ."

Soda and Steve start towards him, suddenly, Two-Bit raising his hands up to stop them, but to no avail. Just as the two are about to grab the Soc, a soft voice echoes throughout the room.

"Leave him alone."

Everyone looks to the hallway to see Ponyboy leaning against the wall just outside the living room, staring at them with tired, blood-shot eyes. Bob notices for the first time how thin he really is, the trembling of his body making him look all the more frail and small, as if merely standing takes all his energy – and Bob has no doubt that it does, seeing as his knees look about to buckle.

He does not know how, but he is the first to reach the younger man as his strength fails. Bob catches him just in time, and they find themselves in a familiar position – the same from the hospital.

"Get you're hands off-" Soda starts.

"I said leave him alone," Ponyboy says forcefully, his eyebrows furrowing as he glares at the crowd in the living room. He turns back to Bob, who still has his arms wrapped awkwardly around his small waist, and he forces his legs to support his weight again, stepping back and out of the warm hold. "Come on." He gestures down the hall, turning and walking towards the door at the end.

"Pony . . ." Darry calls with worry, taking a step but stopping short.

"I'm fine, Darry. We're just gonna have a chat." Ponyboy doesn't turn to face his brother, still making his way towards his room, Bob in tow.

"Well . . . all right. But don't make it too long. You still need your rest."

As Pony enters the room, he turns, allowing the other boy to enter before closing the door. Hushed bantering can be heard coming from the living room, but it soon dies down as Darry's deep baritone voice demands that they all go back to doing what they were before.

"Is your family always like that?" Bob asks quietly, his hands finding his front pockets as he slowly scans the room. It isn't anything like his own. He has posters coating nearly every inch of wall – some even spilling onto the ceiling – and his bed isn't nearly half as small as this one. His closet must be at least five times bigger – maybe even the size of this room itself. His room doesn't have cracked and peeling paint – on the contrary, his mother insists that it be painted with a new coat every month or so – and it certainly doesn't have water stains or shag carpet.

"Yea," Ponyboy studies his guest intently, wishing he had his sketch pad. Bob would be an interesting specimen to draw – maybe even more so than Dally. He has a slender neck, longer than you'd see on most people, but it accents his features well. His face is full; not fat, but not boney, the muscles in his jaw defined and masculine. Pony's anthropology teacher had once told him that the difference between a male and female jaw bone is that the male's flares out slightly towards the back. He's never seen it in himself – though he's looked quite often in the mirror – but Bob's clearly does, and it only reminds Pony of how much more of a man the older is compared to him. What would a man want with a boy like him? "Pretty much."

"Oh," Bob replies simply, finally looking to him with a forced, artless smile. "Must be nice to have people to stick up for you . . . Family, I mean."

Pony nods, and, suddenly, has a thought. "You don't?"

"Not any siblings, no," the older shakes his head, looking to his shoes. "My mom couldn't have any more kids after me, so she kind of dotes on me. It gets annoying, I guess. I suppose I'd rather have a mother than someone who waits on me hand and foot."

"And your dad?"

"He works too much to be home often; business trips and whatnot. I've heard the maids whispering about an affair, but I don't think he'd do that. He's busy, but he still loves me and my mom."

Pony nods, and a silence falls between them for a long moment.

"Uh, you can sit if you want," Ponyboy points to the bed, sitting down himself as a wave of exhaustion comes over him. He takes deep, slow breaths that sound almost liquid-like, as if there is water gurgling in his lungs – Bob guesses that is the case and winces. "I'm fine. Don't worry, it's not as bad as all that."

"Well, it doesn't sound all that great," the older murmurs, taking the offered seat and watching him closely.

"So, Brent sent some stuff over?" Pony questions quietly, rubbing his right eye tiredly.

"Yea," Bob replies absently, looking around and wondering where the books in his arms could have gone. "I, uh . . ."

"I think you dropped them when you made a grab for me," the younger teen replies, wiping his nose. "Don't worry. I'll get them later . . . Thank you for bringing them."

Bob nods. "I had to ask around for your address . . . Wasn't easy."

"I wouldn't think so," Ponyboy chuckles lightly.

"So you're really into the whole writing thing? I mean, are you any good?"

Pony shrugs. "I've been told that I have a future in writing if I ever want to try it out. I guess that means I'm okay. I've never really thought about it that much."

"Well, some of the teachers seem to think so," Bob replies, and the younger gives him an odd look. "They mention you in class whenever they're going on about 'exceptional students' and all that." He shrugs. "Made me wonder how good you were if you could get their attention."

"Nah, they're just hoping for someone with enough brains to go somewhere special so they can brag to all their other students about how they taught a famous person." His nose scrunches and he attempts a smile. "Right now, they'll place their hopes in just about anyone who shows a little bit of talent."

"Well, why don't you let your classmates be the judge of that?" Bob suggests. "Ask the school paper to print something for you, and see what everyone thinks. Hell, you might even get a little publicity from the _town_ newspaper if you're as good as they say you are."

"I could never do that," Ponyboy shakes his head sheepishly and looks to his hands in his lap. "Darry would think it's a waste of time. I should be concentrating on my school work. My brothers are depending on me to get out of this damn town and make something of myself. If I don't . . . I don't know what I'll do."

"So write about that," the older boy says, placing a hand on the kid's bony shoulder. "Everyone can relate to wanting a better life, Ponyboy. Why don't you put into words what everybody else is thinking?"

Pony stares into sincere, encouraging eyes. It is the third time he has heard the Soc use his name, and it still surprises him to hear it.

"Yea, all right," he nods slowly. "I'll think about it."

"Ponyboy?" Darry's voice is accompanied by a knock on the door.

"Guess it's time for me to go," Bob says with a smile, standing and wiping his palms on the front of his pants out of habit. "I hope you get better soon, Ponyboy. I'll see you at school."

"Yea," Pony says softly, watching as Bob exits and Darry walks in with a curious gaze. "See ya."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Oi, I promise this will never happen again, Kats and Kittens. Seriously. I've just had major writer's block on this story, and I finally forced myself to sit down and write a damn chapter (however short it may be . . . sorry . . .). I hope this was okay. I'll have more up as soon as I can, yea? I'll catch you later, Gators! Have fun.


	9. Chapter Nine

AN: Hey there, Kats and Kittens! How have you all been? I've been . . . tired. The only reason this chapter is actually in existence is because of the crazy overnight shifts I had to do all last week. I had absolutely nothing else to do, so I thought I'd catch up on a few of my stories. I'm glad that my sleep deprivation could aid in furthering this fic. :) Enjoy!

_Chapter Nine:_

"Hey!"

Bob stiffens at the harsh word. He has barely made it a block from the Curtis' home, and already he is being hassled by a group of people in a Mustang. His _own_ car is parked just outside the neighborhood. He had not been at all sure what would have happened to it if he had parked it outside the house, but he had not wanted to take a chance.

He is surprised to find not a car full of Greasers, but Socs, all glaring at him with a look that makes the pit of his stomach drop out.

"Fellas," he nods as the car is parked and several fellow students pile out into the street.

"Bit far from your turf," Harry says, his nose purple and flattened from their last encounter, "eh, Greaser lover?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Bob says in as casual a tone as he can muster, his shaking hands shoved deep within his pockets. "I was just bringing the kid some homework. Teacher told me to do it. If he doesn't get it, I take the blame, and I'm not itching for any more detentions."

"Right," the other smirks. "Just cut the bullshit already, Bob. Admit it. You've gone soft. You can't handle being at the top anymore."

Bob chuckles. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Harry." He shakes his head. "You think you can kick me out of what I rightfully earned? I'd like to see you try." Harry slowly advances on the young man, his smirk growing more and more mirthless with every step.

"It would be my pleasure," he growls lowly, and for the first time since they their arrival, a look of fear flashes across Bob's face.

0 o 0 o 0

Sodapop wakes to the sound of choked, wheezing gasps, and he immediately sits up, flicking on the bedside lamp and turning to his younger brother. The awful sounds are, indeed, coming from Ponyboy, and he winces at the great effort it takes for the young man to merely breathe.

"Pony?" He asks softly, placing a hand on the other's shoulder, fevered skin nearly making him pull back. Ponyboy does not stir, and Soda shakes him slightly, repeating his brother's name. This time, there is a hiccough in the teen's breathing, and he slowly turns to the older, looking up at him with hazy, sleep-laced eyes.

"Pony, you okay?" Soda asks worriedly, becoming more anxious when the young man does not respond. "Honey, I'm gonna go get Darry, okay? We might have to take you to the hospital." At this, Ponyboy nods, and Soda breathes a sigh of relief, offering an encouraging smile before quickly heading off to their older brother's room.

"Darry," Soda says hurriedly, flicking on the man's bedroom light and rushing towards his bed to shake him roughly. "Darry! Come on!"

Darry moans, lifting his head slightly and giving a sleepy, "What?"

"It's Pony."

At these words, Darry shoots into a full sitting position, staring at Soda with wide, fearful eyes.

"What? What about Pony?" Even as he asks the words, he is up and out of the bed, making his way down the hall to his brothers' room.

"His breathin's worse," Soda explains quietly as they enter the room and Darry makes his way around the bed to sit on the edge near Ponyboy. He strings his fingers through the teen's hair, laying his palm flat against a fairly warm forehead. "You think he needs a doctor?"

Darry sighs, closing his eyes and laying a hand against Ponyboy's chest. The vibrations he feels are uneven and sticcatoed, the breaths shallow.

"Let's get him to the truck," the older man says decisively, looping his arms around Ponyboy's back and underneath his knees. Lifting the boy, Darry realizes just how much this illness has hit him. He weighs next to nothing -- Darry could be carrying a few pillows, for all he knows. But it isn't pillows. It's his brother. His baby brother . . . and if he loses him, there is no telling how the remaining Curtises will cope.

"Come on," Soda encourages from the door, a pair of clothing for each of them already in hand.

Darry is down the hall and out the door in nearly no time, carefully positioning Ponyboy between himself and Sodapop in the truck. They reach the end of the street in silence before Ponyboy startles them both.

"Wait," he wheezes, sitting forward slightly in his seat and squinting out the passenger side window over Soda. "That's-" He erupts into a violent coughing fit, doubling over and helplessly riding out the waves of firecrackers going off in his chest.

"Easy, now," Soda coaxes softly, rubbing circles on his back and wincing with every labored breath. "Darry, we gotta hurry it up. He's gettin' worse."

"No," Ponyboy manages, sitting up and leaning against Soda heavily. "No, th-that . . . that car." He points while continuing to cough into his other hand. Both Darry and Soda turn to the Mustang parked not thirty feet from them.

"Yea, what about it?" Darry demands impatiently, his grip tightening on the wheel.

"It's . . . Bob's," the youngest Curtis says, his coughing residing some and his breaths evening out into a steady rhythm.

"Who?" Sodapop's eyebrows furrow as he studies the teen beside him carefully.

"That Soc," Darry replies for the younger grimly, shaking his head and starting to inch the car forward again.

"No!" Ponyboy protests, receiving a trying look from both his brothers.

"Pony, you're _sick_," Soda counters quietly, attempting a patient tone while pulling him close and running his fingers through the young man's hair. "If we don't get you to a hospital soon-"

"He might be in trouble."

"The _Soc_ might be in trouble?" Darry asks skeptically, one eyebrow raising. "Pony, I'm sure this 'Bob' guy can take care of himself."

"But he left . . . _hours_ ago . . . _Please_, Dar-"

"No," Soda says before the eldest can answer. "No, we are not going on some wild goose chase for a stinkin' Soc. No way in hell." As if to emphasize his point, he slams a fist onto the dashboard, the glove compartment falling open and scattering various papers at his feet. He curses and leans down to gather them up.

"_Please_, Dar," Ponyboy tries begging his oldest brother once more, quietly as if Soda will not be able to hear him.

"Ponyboy," Darry sighs defeatedly, shaking his head. Pony's eyes plead relentlessly, tearing up as his throat begins to close and his breathing becomes labored again.

"Darry," he whispers, curling bony, weak fingers around his large bicep. "Please, we can't leave him all alone. You don't know what it feels like." He cringes, looking to Sodapop desperately for a way out.

The other young man shoots him a look that says, _You're not seriously considering this, are you?_

Turning to face the road ahead of them, Darry swallows audibly and nods as he makes up his mind.

"We're going to the hospital."

"Darry-"

"We'll call the boys when we get there to come take a look around," the older interrupts with a stern look, to which Ponyboy only opens his mouth again to retort. "Pony . . . I wouldn't care if it was the goddamned president of the United States lyin' in his own blood in this street. _You_ come first, and as soon as you're taken care of, we'll help this Soc of yours."

"Bob," Ponyboy croaks hoarsely, a worried but satisfied look on his face.

"Whatever," Darry mumbles, starting off down the road again.

0 o 0 o 0

"I don't care what in the hell you'd like to do if you find him, Dally," Darry practically yells into the hospital payphone, attracting a few stares. "Ponyboy's already upset enough, and if you upset him anymore by ruffin' this guy up, so help me God, you won't see the light of day!" The eldest of the Curtis brothers slams the receiver into its cradle, grinding his teeth as he walks back to the waiting area and plops heavily into the seat beside Sodapop.

"You sure it was the right thing to send Dally and Steve to search with Two-Bit and Johnny?" The other inquires cautiously. Darry raises an eyebrow.

"Why? You worried about 'Bob' too?"

"No," Soda spits defensively, crossing his arms and averting his gaze. "I just don't want either of them to get in trouble for doing something stupid."

"Right," Darry nods, skepticism lacing his tone. "Well, Johnny's always been pretty good with keeping Dally cool, but with Steve's hot head, who _knows_ what will happen?"

"If Dally's cool, then Steve will be too," Soda says matter-of-factly. Darry sighs, leaning his head back tiredly and closing his eyes. It has been nearly twenty minutes since the two were "shooed" from Ponyboy's room so that the nurses could hook him up to various machines and antibiotics. Finally, the door opens, and the nurses exit, giving the two disdainful looks, as if they are to blame for the poor boy's waning health.

"Can we see him now?" Soda asks politely with just enough of a tremble in his voice to change the looks they are receiving into sympathy.

One nurse nods with a gentle smile, saying, "We've just given him a sedative, so it should be kicking in soon. You have a few minutes before he falls asleep." Both young men nod, hurriedly rushing into the room to their brother's side.

"Hey, Pony," Soda says quietly, stringing his fingers through the soft strands of Ponyboy's hair and forcing a smile. "How're you feeling?"

Ponyboy blinks slowly, offering a yawn and a meek grin of his own as he slurs, "Tired."

"But you don't hurt none, do you?" Darry asks worriedly from his other side, his hand linked with the young man's. Pony shakes his head.

"Just woozy," he sighs, his eyes drooping to half mast. "Any word on . . . Bob?"

"Nothin' yet," Darry replies, "but they're lookin'. Don't worry."

"Someone probably just slashed his tires," Soda suggests. "Maybe he walked home."

"Maybe," the youngest Curtis whispers before his head lolls to the side and he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

0 o 0 o 0

"Why the _fuck_ are we lookin' for this guy anyway?" Steve mutters, kicking an empty tin can -- probably left from a child's game -- down the street as he and the three others scour the area that Darry had told them to.

"Because Ponyboy's worried about him," Johnny counters with an odd bout of courage, "and because we owe him."

"We don't owe him jack shit," Dally argues, his hands deep in his pockets and his eyes glued to the ground as if this were just a stroll through the park. "He owed Pony for tryin' to turn him into a fish."

"Either way," Two-Bit cuts in, "Darry sounded freaked on the phone. If we don't find Bob, I ain't takin' the blame." Silence ensues his words, and the four continue to search with minimal interaction.

"Hey," Johnny whispers after a few minutes, and the others turn to him, "I think there's something over there-" He points without moving. "-under that tree . . . I think it's him!" The other three jog towards the motionless, body-shaped lump, the youngest of them keeping his distance and shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Holy shit!" Two-Bit hisses, Johnny watching as he takes a hesitant step back.

"Christ," Dally mutters, turning away, running a hand through his feathery hair, and shakily rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette. Steve swallows loudly, backing away and turning to meet Johnny with a pale face and wide eyes.

Taking a shuddering breath, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handful of various coins and saying, "Johnny . . . go call an ambulance . . . then call the hospital and tell Darry that . . . that the Soc is on his way."

"What if he asks how he is?" The other teen asks quietly, not liking the look on Steve's face one bit.

"Just tell 'im . . . it's bad," Steve replies, taking Johnny's hand and pressing the multitude of coins into his palm, barely noticing as several fall and jingle softly on the grass. "Real bad."

0 o 0 o 0

"Bad?" Darry asks from the nurses station, his fingers clenched tightly around the receiver and his eyebrows furrowed. "How bad?"

"_Real_ bad, Dar," Johnny replies from the other end, his voice shaking and his breathing uneven, anxious.

"How bad is 'real bad,' Johnny?" The eldest Curtis demands somewhat more harshly then intended.

"I-I don't know," the younger man stutters, swallowing nervously. "I didn't . . . I _couldn't _. . . Steve just said he was real bad off, Darry. And by the looks of Steve's face, he meant _real_ bad off."

"Okay," Darry sighs, looking to Soda, who stands nervously beside him. "Thanks, Johnny. Are you guys comin' down to the hospital?"

"Yea," Johnny replies. "Dally, me, an' Steve will be there pretty soon. Two-Bit doesn't want to leave him alone, but he figures if all of us are hangin' around, it might look a little suspicious."

"All right, sounds good. We'll see you soon."

"Hey, Dar?"

"Yea?"

"How's Pony holdin' up?" Johnny inquired timidly.

"He's sleepin' right now," Darry explains. "Doc says the meds are workin', but they won't know anything for sure until morning."

"Oh . . . Okay," Johnny says somewhat awkwardly. "We'll see you in a bit, Darry."

"Bye."

Darry replaces the phone in its rightful spot on the nurses station and gives the woman sitting at the desk a grateful smile.

"Well?" Soda asks impatiently, his eyes searching almost desperately.

"They found him around where Pony spotted his car," the older says quietly. "He's . . . pretty bad, from what Johnny knows." Darry rubs at his eyes tiredly. "He called an ambulance, and he, Dally, and Steve are on their way."

"Two-Bit?"

"He's stayin' with the Soc to make sure the ambulance can find him."

"Won't they think he did it?" Soda asks worriedly.

"Not likely," Darry shakes his head. "Greasers don't normally beat someone to a bloody pulp and then hang around to call 911. Plus Two-Bit's always gotten along with the Socs just fine unless we're fightin'. The cops know him well enough to know that."

"Yea," the younger man says absently, biting his right thumbnail. "Yea, you're right."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, I hope you guys liked it! I'm thinking there will be two or three more chapters after this one. I have a good idea of where I'm going now, so it should be finished fairly soon . . . before summer is over, at least. Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side!


	10. Chapter Ten

AN: Okay, this chapter goes out to the one and the only _FeistyFeist_, because she kicked my ass and told me to write another chapter. Thanks, _Feisty_. I owe you one. So give props where they are due, Kats and Kittens. And enjoy this second-to-last chapter!!_  
_

_Chapter Ten:_

The first sensation assaulting Ponyboy's senses upon awakening is the cotton of the hospital-issue sheets rubbing against his pale skin. It irritates him, and he shifts uncomfortably, grunting and turning onto his side.

"Pony?" Soda's voice is soft, timid -- scared.

This time couldn't be _nearly_ as bad as the last. Why does his brother sound like he had just been drowned yesterday?

"So-" He coughs violently, his entire body trembling with the action.

"Shh, shh." A comforting hand rests in the crook of his side, the other stringing fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp gently. "It's all right, baby. You need to rest. The doctor says you'll be fine, but you have to take it easy. Lots of sleep, you hear?"

Ponyboy swallows painfully and nods, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

"Pony?"

He sucks in a breath and swallows again but opens his eyes, slowly and carefully. His eyelids feel heavy, swollen, and he whimpers as light seeps into the welcome darkness, but he manages to open them halfway to stare into the worried blues of his brother, Sodapop.

"H-Hurts, S'da," he whispers, tears forming and spilling down his cheeks. Soda wraps his arms around his younger brother gently, cautiously sidling himself into the hospital bed and pressing himself against Ponyboy's back.

"It's gonna be all right, Ponyboy. Everything's going to get better soon. You'll see," he comforts, stroking the young teen's hair and cheek, wiping the tears away. The door on the opposite end of the room opens and closes, and Darry stares at his younger brothers. He and Soda share a worried look before the eldest Curtis clears his throat, rubbing his sweaty palms on his dirty pants and forcing one foot after the other.

"Ponyboy?" He asks softly, tilting his head slightly. "You doin' okay?"

Pony takes in a wheezing breath before rasping, "W-Water?" Darry immediately grasps a paper cup beside the bed, filling it from a pitcher, and sticking a straw in it, carefully guiding the thin piece of plastic between Ponyboy's lips. The young Curtis sips at the water a few times before exhaling with satisfaction, resting back against Soda with a little more ease.

"Better?" Darry asks with raised eyebrows. Pony nods and sighs contently, his eyes falling closed as sleep overtakes him once more.

0 o 0 o 0

Darry gently shuts the door to his youngest brother's hospital room, running a trembling hand over his exhausted-looking face. His eyes are outlined in a soft purple, the skin puffy and weathered. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, releasing it in a swift gust before making his way toward the waiting room, where his friends await.

As he enters the white-laced room -- white walls, white chairs, white fucking tables with white fucking magazines -- they stand, staring at him anxiously.

"How's he doin?" Johnny is the first to ask. "How's Pony? Is he all right?"

"He was awake," Darry replies with a nod of his head. "Sleepin' again. But he's hurtin'." A silence falls over them before he voices his own question. "Any word on that Soc?"

"He lost a lot of blood," Two-Bit says. "Paramedics nearly lost him on the way over here. Heart stopped. Almost didn't get it started again. He's in surgery. A lot of broken bones, reconstructive shit . . . Fucker's damn lucky we came along when we did."

"Damn lucky that Ponyboy sent you all after him," Darry corrects. "Lord knows he doesn't deserve it." He grinds his teeth and clenches his fists, glaring at the white floor tiles placed neatly beside each other. One after the other in columns and rows. Columns and rows. Columns and rows. He shakes his head and looks back up at the few men surrounding him.

"Ya'll don't need to be here. You can go home, get some rest. He'll be fine. If anything changes, I'll call."

"Nuh uh." Johnny shakes his head. "I'm stayin' right here. I don't leave till Pony does."

"Johnny, they aren't gonna let you stay here all night," the eldest Curtis tries to reason with him.

"Well, let them try and stop me."

"Yea, Johnny and I'll kick their asses," Dally smirks from behind his cigarette, a puff of smoke swirling its way upward and curling lazily across the ceiling.

"Ain't no one gonna kick us out of here, Darry. Don't you worry about us," Two-Bit nods sagely, his hands tucked away deep within his jacket pockets. Steve offers no more than a nod, and Darry sighs in defeat.

"All right," he says with a shake of his head. "Just don't start nothin'." He points a finger at each of them, stopping at Dally and narrowing his eyes. "I _mean_ it." Dally holds his hands up in mock surrender, his eyebrows shooting high on his forehead as if to say _Who, me?_

"You just worry about Pony," Johnny says.

0 o 0 o 0

Soda watches the steady rhythm of his younger brother's chest as he sleeps. Things could not be worse. Ponyboy sick, that _Bob_ guy nearly dying because he had stuck up for his younger brother . . . All Soda really wants is for things to be like they were before the night Darry had hit Pony. Things used to be simple. Darry and he would work while Pony went to school and got an education so he could do something with his life.

This isn't how it was supposed to pan out.

0 o 0 o 0

Pony awakens to the feeling of a warm arm wrapped around his abdomen.

"Soda?" He asks softly. The body behind him does not rouse, and Pony turns his head slightly to find his brother fast asleep. He smiles sadly, seeing the dark circles beneath Soda's eyes and the drawn-in look about him. His brothers don't deserve this. _He_ doesn't deserve _them_. He shifts carefully, turning so that he and Soda are face to face (nearly nose to nose) and stares at his brother for a long while. He raises a tentative hand and begins to trace Soda's face softly. His eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his nearly transparent eyelids. He smiles as he runs the pads of his fingers along his brother's chin, feeling the stubble there. Ponyboy can't wait until he's able to grow hair there. He wants to shave so badly.

Soda stirs, and Ponyboy reluctantly pulls back as the older of the two lazily opens his eyes and yawns.

"Soda?" Pony repeats quietly, receiving a sleepy "Mmhm?" in return. "Do . . . Do you know when I can go home again?"

Soda shifts, his forehead resting against his younger brother's as he replies, "Dunno, little buddy. Soon as you get better, I s'pose."

"Can I go home now?"

"Nuh uh. Not till you get better, Pony." The younger boy pouts his lips, and Soda chuckles. "Aw, don't look like that. It'll be _yawn_ sooner than you think. See? You're already feeling better, right?"

"I feel _fine_. I want to go home," Ponyboy whines, sighing as Sodapop merely strings his fingers through his dark, annoyingly grease-free locks and kisses his forehead.

"Try and get some sleep, honey. The doc will make you better, then we can _all_ go home."

Ponyboy isn't happy with the answer, but he obediently closes his eyes and presses himself further into his brother's comforting embrace. Exhaustion soon catches up with him, and he finds himself sleeping deeper and calmer than ever before.

0 o 0 o 0

_Two Weeks Later:_

Bob slowly opens his eyes to a soft, white light. His immediate reaction to the tube running down his throat is to gag -- which he does -- and to flail his arms -- which he tries to do. He finds his wrists bound by a soft leather and begins to panic.

"Bob?" A gentle voice asks from his right, and he turns, drawing in a sharp breath -- not easy with the tube trying to breath _for_ him -- at the pain the movement elicits. "Bob? It's okay. You're all right." The Soc's vision slowly begins to focus on a young man, a familiar teen . . . Curtis! Ponyboy Curtis! His eyes plead with the younger man, beg him to tell him what is going on.

"It's okay, Bob. You're in the hospital," Ponyboy says, setting aside the book he had been reading. Bob barely catches the bold title. _Gone With the Wind_. "Do you remember what happened?" The Soc stares into the boy's reassuring eyes for a moment, wracking his brain for any semblance of a memory. All that surfaces is pain. _A lot_ of pain . . . and that jerk from school.

He nods slowly, feeling the tube irritate his throat. He squints his eyes and yanks on the wrist bonds once or twice roughly.

"Oh! Just a minute. I'll go get your doc. He'll take that stuff off." Ponyboy disappears from his line of vision, and he panics again, moving restlessly and glancing around the room frantically. Less than a minute later, a tall man in a white coat enters the room, followed closely by Ponyboy and a nurse.

"Ah. Mister Sheldon," the deep-voiced doctor says quietly but firmly. He seems like one of those people that can say anything he wants and just about anyone will believe it. He just has one of those looks -- rough but handsome. "We were worried about you for a while. Do you know where you are?" Bob nods again and makes a face when the same tingling, tickling sensation fills his throat. "All right. Well, you seem to be fighting the ventilator we have you on, so I'm going to remove the tube, okay?" The Soc resists the urge to roll his eyes, wondering if the man treats all his patients like three-year-olds or just the stupid teens.

Several minutes later, after much coughing and eye-watering, Bob sits comfortably against his pillows in a semi-upright position, sipping at the water that the nurse is holding up to him.

"Thanks," he croaks as she sets it aside. She nods without looking him in the eyes and makes her way from the room behind the doctor.

"Just call if you need anything. Another nurse will be in shortly to check your vitals."

With that, only Bob and Ponyboy are left. The younger man sits in the plastic chair beside the bed. There is an awkward silence as the two lock eyes and avert their gazes several times before Pony, finally, clears his throat and takes a breath to speak. But Bob beats him to it.

"How . . . How long have I been in here?"

Ponyboy watches him carefully for a moment before replying, "Couple of weeks." Bob nods, looking around at the cards and flowers littering his room. "Cherry's been here nearly everyday . . . She's been real worried."

Bob says nothing.

"Um . . . Your mom and dad have been here every other day. They'd talk to you and tell you about stuff . . ."

"How come you're here?" The Soc demands quietly, wincing as the words come out more harshly than he intended. "I-I mean . . . You didn't have to."

"Well . . ." Ponyboy hesitates, his fingers fumbling with one another in his lap. "I-I . . . I didn't want you to . . . What I mean is . . . It just sorta seems like it's my fault, you bein' in the hospital and all." Bob's eyebrows rise slightly.

"_Your_ fault?" He asks with surprise. "How is this _your_ fault? It was Ricky and his friends who did this to me . . . not you."

"But you stood up against him at school . . . for me," the Greaser shrugs. "I just . . . If you hadn't, then you wouldn't have made them angry, and they wouldn't have come after you."

"But they might have come after _you_ instead."

Ponyboy shrugs. "I can take care of myself."

Bob offers a wheezing chuckle, which ends in a grunt of pain. "Take care of yourself, huh?"

The younger teen smiles for the first time in a long time, laughing slightly.

"Well, sorta."

Bob looks the kid up and down. "You're looking better."

"Yea," Ponyboy nods. "Doc says the pneumonia's pretty much gone. A few more days of pills, and I should be good as new."

"'S good," the older slurs. "Two weeks, huh? What'd I miss?"

"Football team lost state," Ponyboy shrugs with a sympathetic look, "but it was close. Couple of points, and we would've won for sure." Bob scoffs his disappointment. "Oh! The Dallas Cowboys want Cherry to cheerlead for them! I guess one of the players is cousins with one of their cheerleaders, and she was at the game and saw Cherry. Said she was gonna recommend her to the squad, and if she ever wants to try out, there'd be an open spot for her for sure."

"No kiddin'?" The Soc looks proud, smiling from ear to ear (or as far as he can with stitches lacing his left cheekbone).

"Yea," the younger teen smiles back. "And that gas station up near the school almost exploded. Some gasoline caught fire, but they got it out before it caused any real damage."

"Aw, shoot. Would've been interesting to see it go up, huh?"

"Probably would have blew up half the school," Ponyboy laughs. "Uh . . . I guess that's it, really. Nothin' too exciting, I s'pose."

"I guess the school exploding was just too much to ask for."

There is another silence between the two.

"Well . . . I should really get going. I just stopped by for a bit to see how you were doing . . . and to, uh . . . give you this." Ponyboy stands from his chair, reaching to the bedside table and extracting a newspaper.

Bob reaches for it with his right hand, finding the wrist in a cast and deciding to use his other hand, which has a couple taped fingers but nothing too horrific. He takes a moment to catalogue all his injuries. The doctor had run through them briefly before leaving, but there were quite a few more aches and pains then what the man had mentioned.

Several of his ribs are fractured, two broken, and his left knee is currently a mixture of metal pins and plates. Stitches adorn the many gashes on his body -- his abdomen, his face and head, arms and legs. His left ankle is in a cast, covered in signatures from his friends and family. His right eye is patched, the doctor having said that the possibility of regaining his 20/20 vision is slim to none -- a pair of wire-rimmed glasses are sure to be in his near future. And to add to his many injuries are several yellowish-brown bruises, their deep purple color having faded after the first week. Thankfully anything that _had_ been swollen is down to a considerable size, and the morphine seems to be working just fine in keeping his pain bearable.

"The school paper?" Bob asks in confusion as he glances the object over. "This is from three days ago."

"Here," Ponyboy reaches over and points out a rather long article on the front page, his face smiling up at him from the picture underneath the title.

"Oh," the Soc says with some surprise, glancing through it quickly. The bottom of the article says that it continues on to another page. "Wow! You really did it!"

"Yea. The editor of the Tulsa World newspaper read it, and they're offering me a scholarship. He's talking to a friend of his in Nebraska, seeing if he can't get me a full scholarship to someplace out there."

"That's great!" Bob smiles, looking from Ponyboy back to the paper.

"Well, I really should get going. Darry and Soda'll be home from work soon. Don't want to worry them." Pony grins and raises a hand while walking towards the door.

"I'll see ya around, Kid," Bob nods, holding up the newspaper. "And I'm gonna read this."

Ponyboy smiles. "You do that. And get better. I'll see you tomorrow or the day after." And then he is gone, and Bob is left alone with the article and the beeping of the surrounding medical machines. He glances at the bold title of the article above Ponyboy's picture.

_**Heart Stopper, Breath Taker, Fate Maker**_

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Okay, honest opinions, now. How was it? Only one more chapter to go, so you better get your two cents in now. I love you all for reviewing! I'm so very sorry that it's taken me so long to update this fic. I've been worried about school and busy with my other stories. Oi!

Again, _FeistyFeist_, I love you. You are my _Outsiders_ muse. Thanks for getting me back on this fic!! Lots of props to ya!!

Later, Gators! Catch you all on that oh-so flippy side of life.


	11. Chapter Eleven

AN: Thus ends the Heart-Stopping, Breath-Taking, Fate-Making story of a lifetime . . . Jeesh, it took me long enough, didn't it? I'm so glad this is over . . . and yet I'm really not. I hope you all enjoy this final chapter, and a BIG thank you to everyone who reviewed and stuck with me this long! Thank you so very, very, very much! I love you all more than egg salad.

So, without further ado, here is the very last chapter. _**  
**_

_**Heart Stopper, Breath Taker, Fate Maker**_

_My father once told me that I am the maker  
of my own fate. No one else can do it for me.  
If I believed that, I don't think I would have  
let a group of Socs try to drown me in a park  
fountain three weeks ago. But my father  
also told me to forgive and forget. And that's  
what I hope to do by writing this. My name is  
Ponyboy Curtis, and I almost died.  
I live with my two brothers, Darry and  
Soda. My parents died a while back, and it's  
been the three of us ever since. We live in  
the Greaser part of town, and if you don't  
know what a Greaser is, then you aren't one,  
and if you aren't one, then you're probably  
a Soc, a "richie rich" from the better side  
of town.  
Greasers and Socs don't get along. Gr-  
easers like to fight and steal and cheat. Socs  
like to high roll and make the Greasers' lives  
miserable by shoving their money in our faces.  
I've spent my whole life afraid to walk down the  
street alone. And until a few weeks ago, I  
thought all Socs were the same. One Soc has  
dared to step forward and try to make things  
better between these two rivalries at the cost  
of his own life.  
He was there that night, at the fountain.  
He held me under the water until I passed out,  
until I stopped breathing. It took my oldest bro-  
ther, Darry, near three minutes to get me to  
start breathing again. He tells me it was the  
scariest and longest three minutes of his  
entire life. After that night, I got really sick.  
Pneumonia, the doctor said. I stayed in the  
hospital for a few days before I was allowed  
to go home. The Soc, the one who had dr-  
owned me, came to visit. He apologized,  
and I belived he was sorry. But I still  
didn't trust him.   
When my brother finally let me go back,  
I found that things hadn't changed. I was  
still treated like a Greaser, like the gum  
on the bottom of a shoe. It was then that  
the Soc surprised me. He stuck up for me  
against one of his own friends. And while  
I got sicker, he got to feel what it felt like  
to nearly lose your life. His friends, Socs  
just like him, beat him pretty bad. His  
heart stopped on the way to the hospital.  
He's still in a coma, going on nearly two  
weeks now. I still visit him, hoping he'll  
wake up so I can apologize. But the doc-  
tors say his odds aren't good.  
So this is for him. This is so you all  
know how it happened and so those  
rumors floating around school will stop.  
No, he's not dead. No, I didn't have  
him beaten. And, no, Paul Newman will  
not be attending the end-of-the-year  
formal (sorry, ladies).  
And this is for all those out there who  
think the way that he and I do, even if th-  
ey don't say so aloud. This is for all those  
heart-stoppers who can't seem to find  
their place,, all those breath-takers who  
think they might have chosen the wrong  
place to hide themselves, for every single  
person who believes they can make their  
own fate, for every person who _has_ made  
their own fate, and for every person who  
will, one day, make their fate everything it  
can be. _

0 o 0 o 0

Bob reads the last paragraph two or three times before placing the newspaper down on his lap and staring at the wall opposite his hospital bed.

_Fate-maker_. He's never heard that term before. His father hasn't ever said those kind of things to him. He wonders if he was supposed to. Perhaps if he had, he wouldn't have turned out the way he has -- jumping and drowning Greasers, getting beaten by his own friends . . . _supposed_ friends. The kid really_ is_ a good writer. Better than he'd thought.

A soft knock from the door breaks his train of thought, and he turns his head to find Cherry standing in the doorway.

"Hey," she says quietly, her words nearly a whisper.

"Hi," he smiles as best he can. His head is still fuzzy from the morphine, and his vision swims a bit from having read so much with only one eye.

Cherry makes her way cautiously across the room, as if the floor is glass and any wayward step could cause it to crack.

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," he replies, looking down at the paper still clutched in his hand. He holds it up slightly. "Have you read this?" Cherry glances at it and smiles.

"Sure. Everyone has," she comments, grasping the bed rail lightly.

"Everyone at school?"

"Practically everyone in the whole county," the young woman laughs. The gesture lights up her face, and Bob is happy to see it. "The local newspaper published it, even. It's all everyone's been talking about for the last couple of days."

"Oh," Bob states softly. Ponyboy hadn't mentioned it had been published in the town newspaper. "Does anyone suspect . . ."

"No," Cherry shakes her head. "Since Ponyboy didn't give any names and because his family refuses to press charges, the police aren't really looking for his assaulters . . . but there are some rumors around school still."

"They know it was me," the teen sighs exhaustedly, laying his head back against the stiff, hospital-issue pillow.

"They _think_ it was you," Cherry amends. "No one really knows for sure."

"I think I should turn myself in."

A silence coats the room for a moment as Cherry's face takes a confused look and her mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to find the words to say.

"B-But they aren't pressing charges. What would the point be to-"

"Because I know," Bob says sharply. "No one would be able to prove it, but I'd know. It'd be there in the back of my mind for the rest of my life."

"Bob, I don't underst-"

"Cherry, I'm not asking you to. I just . . . It's something I have to do."

0 o 0 o 0

_Three Weeks Later: _

"That Bob guy's been released from the hospital," Darry states from behind his newspaper nonchalantly as Ponyboy pushes his breakfast around his plate with a fork.

"Yea, I know," the younger man says sullenly.

"Says here he confessed to your assault."

"Yea."

Soda watches his younger brother carefully from the stove, sharing a worried look with Darry before saying, "It's not like we asked him to, Pony. He wanted to."

"I know that," Ponyboy says tightly, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches the yolk of his egg bleed across his plate and soak into his toast.

"Pony, you can't sulk forever," Darry sighs. "The paper says he's going to get off light because he came forward about it. One-and-a-half, two years tops. Probably less, if he has good behavior."

"That's not the point." The youngest Curtis pushes his plate away, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "I wrote the article so that people would see he isn't a bad guy. He shouldn't have to go to jail . . . I don't want him to."

"Life doesn't work like that, little buddy," Darry explains apologetically. "Just because _you_ think he's an okay guy doesn't get him off the hook. He still tried to drown you. And if he _wants _to do the time for that to ease his own conscience, then let him."

"Ponyboy, you've got a great thing going for you," Soda says with an attempted smile as he sits down beside his brothers. "That journalist from the _Tulsa World_ got you that full scholarship to WSC. You can be a Creative Writing teacher like you want. Quit worryin' about what other people want to do with their lives and focus on yours."

Pony stands, making his way quickly from the kitchen with a mumbled, "Not feelin' good. I'm gonna go lay down."

Soda and Darry exchange a tired look before turning back to their own activities.

0 o 0 o 0

"You sure you want to do this?"

Ponyboy stares at the young man behind the bars of his cell worriedly, his eyes wide and searching. Bob only smiles and leans into the metal poles, staring at him with the most certain look Pony has ever seen.

"Yea, Kid. I'm sure."

"This could ruin your life for good, you know," the younger man points out, gripping one of the bars with a clammy hand and wringing it. The security guard behind him clears his throat, and Pony releases the bar as if it is on fire, taking a step back and bashfully wiping his hand on his jeans.

Bob shrugs with a rueful smile. "I guess I had it coming."

"You really believe that?" Ponyboy looks at him innocently, his eyebrows drawn in an almost worried look.

"Listen, Pony, you shouldn't beat yourself up about this. It was my decision."

"But my article-"

"Was amazing," Bob interrupts with a sincere look. "It was amazing, Ponyboy. And I can't see myself living up to that if I don't take responsibility for my actions."

The younger man looks to the ground, swallowing hard.

"I won't testify against you," he says matter-of-factly. "I'll . . . I'll come to the trial. But I won't go on the stand."

"You don't have to. I've already confessed."

"But don't they need proof or something? They can't just-"

"They have proof enough already. I'm sure any one of your friends would have testified against me. And they can correlate the time you spent in the hospital around the time that you were drowned. It would have been worse if I hadn't come forward."

"The police weren't even looking for anyone."

"That doesn't mean they wouldn't have put it together eventually," Bob argues, wondering why the kid is so hell-bent on seeing his innocence. "Go home, Ponyboy. Don't worry about me. I'll do my time, and then I'll be out."

"What'll you do? After you're out, I mean," Pony asks childishly, tears springing to his eyes.

"I'll look you up. You shouldn't be too hard to find. I'll just look for the famous Ponyboy Curtis."

The younger man forces a watery laugh past his lips and sniffs, wiping his eyes.

"Okay," he nods. "I'll see you at the trial, Bob . . . Good luck."

"Thanks, Pony. I'll be seein' ya."

0 o 0 o 0

"Eighteen months. What a gyp," Dally comments as he and the gang leave the courthouse.

"At least he got some time," Johnny shrugs, and the older boy puts an arm around his shoulders.

"I've gotten more for a lot less."

"That's because the cops hate you, Dally," Steve says dryly, loosening his tie and staring at it distastefully. He hates dressing up, especially when it's for some stuffy, overly-packed room full of hob-knobs and Socs.

"Yea, yea," Dally brushes the statement off lightly.

Ponyboy lags behind, his hands in his pockets and a curious smile on his face.

"So what'd you think, Pony? Did you get justice?" Steve asks. The boys stop on the stairs and turn to him, staring intently as the youngest of them mulls the question over.

The trial had been short. The jury hadn't needed long to convene (mostly because they were all higher-ups from the Soc community), and Bob's punishment was swift and to the point. Seven months in a juvenile facility until his eighteenth birthday, then he would be transported to a state penitentiary for another eleven months. After a year of his sentence, he would be up for parole, and, depending upon his behavior, he may only have to serve little less than two-thirds his sentence.

The only person in the courtroom that hadn't seemed to have a problem with the decision was Ponyboy, himself. After the sentencing, Bob had turned around and given him a half smile and a wink, which the young man had returned.

"Pony?" Darry brings the teen back from his thoughts, and he looks up at them all, the strange smile still adorning his lips.

"I think," he says, "the judge was sneaking whiskey from under his robes the whole time." The group breaks into laughter, and Soda slings an arm around his younger brother's shoulders as they start down the street towards the Curtis house for beer and chocolate cake.

0 o 0 o 0

_One Year Later:_

A lone figure with dark, greased hair stands outside the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, leaning back against a blue car lazily in the blazing afternoon sun. His head rests against his chest, his eyes closed. He almost looks asleep with his relaxed posture and his deep, steady breaths. But as the shuttling sound of the large gate reverberates through the nearly-empty parking lot, his head comes up, his eyes piercing the person walking through.

The man carries only a grocery-paper sack under his right arm, his hands stuffed deep within his jacket pockets as he watches the pavement just ahead of his feet. Not until he hears the loud _clang_ of the gate closing does he stop, hunching his shoulders at the unexpected sound. He looks up, finally, spotting the other man -- the _only_ man -- in the parking lot, and smiles. He strides towards him languidly, as if they are in high school again and were supposed to meet for lunch.

"Can I give you a ride, Mister?" The man leaning against the car asks with a wide grin.

"I don't know. Where you headed?" The other with the paper sack replies with a shrug.

"Any place you are."

A silence falls between them as they stare at one another, taking in the differences that a year has added.

"Ponyboy, you didn't have to come."

"I wanted to," the younger man states, the side of his mouth quirking. "It was my choice."

Bob smiles and chuckles, raising the bag in his right arm slightly.

"Got your book," he says. "It's good. It's _really_ good."

"First copy ever published," Ponyboy grins.

"I heard you sold thousands."

"Near half a million," the young man states proudly, his chest puffing out somewhat. Bob laughs.

"Well, Mister Famous, I'll just have to get your autograph."

"Later," Pony says. "We have to get going. I've got homework to do."

"Rich and famous, and you're still doing your own homework?" The older teen teases. Ponyboy laughs and motions towards the passenger side.

"Just get in the car, you delinquent."

Bob rounds the car and seats himself inside the new-smelling vehicle.

"Nice ride," he says, scanning the interior.

"It's Soda's. I bought it for him last week. It's the first time he's let me drive it."

"Don't you have your own car?"

"Yea, but it's not as cool-looking as his."

Bob laughs as they drive away from the prison, happy to watch it grow smaller and smaller in the side-view mirror.

"So, what now?" He asks quietly, watching the penitentiary disappear completely.

"Now," Ponyboy sighs, "we see what happens."

"Sounds like a plan." Bob nods, and, for the first time in a long time, closes his eyes and revels in the breeze against his face as the car makes its way further and further from his past. His heart-stopping, breath-taking days are over. It's time to start anew. It's time to make his own fate.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, there you have it, my Kats and my Kittens. What do you think? I don't know if I'm all that happy with the ending, but it sort of ties it up for me. And I'm sorry, _Feisty_, but I will not be doing a sequel. I think this wraps up quite nicely. And, sadly, I don't really have any ideas for a sequel.

So carry on, Ladies and Gents! This fic is finally over with. :)  
Later, Gators! Catch you all on that oh-so flippy side of life.


End file.
